


Grayscale

by Tafkan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1920s, 2P Hetalia, Alternate Universe - Noir, Character Death, Fanfiction, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Nyotalia, Originally Posted on Wattpad, Other, Prostitution, Slurs, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 31,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafkan/pseuds/Tafkan
Summary: Detective Alfred F. Jones is on the case!After losing his partner on the force, the lonely lone wolf officer chose to take cases off the record as a private investigator.  When the past constantly crashes over him, can he reconcile his guilt or is the future going to swallow him alive?





	1. Chapter 1

      The late evening did little to bother the detective sorting through his old case files. The jive grooving from the speak easies, mixed with the sound of the few rushing Model-Ts on the roads two floors down floated through the window behind the detective. The office itself was noisy with clutter. The desk facing the door was covered with splayed out manilla folders marked solved, while two bookshelves on either side of it held a mix of books and unsolvable cases. Across the room there was a worn, cream couch with a green, knit blanket and a coffee pot next to it on a foot locker. Two empty, brown chairs sat before the desk and mocked the tired detective almost as much as the sign on the door that needed to be flipped.

      The detective rubbed his weary blue eyes and adjusted his glasses. He stood, shedding his shirt for the night, and tossing it on his chair. He went to the door and grabbed hold of the sign, when there was a sudden, desperate knock on the door. He cringed and inhaled as he opened it.

      And that's when he walked into Alfred's life again. A young man with rust-brown hair and hazel doe eyes shook in the doorway with tears running down his wan, olive face. The restaurant owner down the street, Feliciano Lovino–how–how long had it been? Not long enough.

      "Oh Detective! Please! I need your help!"

      "Nice to see you too, Feli." Alfred smirked and yawned, "I guess you're not here with any left overs, huh?"

      "No! Alfred, it's Marcello! He-he's missing!" Feli wailed. And just like that time seemed to stop. The world around him moved in a haze. The odd car passing on the street below, the muffled squeaks of surfacing sewer rats–muffled sounds vying for dominance over the beating of his heart in his throat and his pulse filling his ears. The Italian snuck around him into the office and managed to close the door behind him.

      "Alfred, Detective..." he whimpered, snapping the blonde from his trance. Alfred turned sharply on his heels and stared the terrified man down with icy, steely, blue pools of mixed emotions.

      "Why didn't you go to the police?" he hissed through gritted teeth. Feliciano cowered and sank to his knees,

      "I can't go to them, Al! Last time I–"

      "Don't! You don't have to finish that sentence." Alfred sighed, letting his shoulders relax, "Come on, have a seat. I'll find your brother." He offered a hand to the mess of a man on his floor and helped Feliciano to his feet. The detective led him to the desk, and flipped the only picture frame on it so the image encased timelessly in glass remained hidden. He pulled a notepad and pencil from the top drawer, and eased into his chair across from poor fidgeting Feli.

      "Why don't you tell me what happened, the last few times you saw Marcello, anything suspicious at all." he hummed, pressing the lead tip to the yellow paper, ready to write down everything. Feliciano closed his eyes and sighed, biting back tears.

      "About a month ago, we got a strange letter in the mail. Marcello and I–we were so curious–we had to open it! I couldn't really understand much of it, but Marcello could. It was so sloppy, and written in shorthand Spanish–I can only really understand it when it's spoken. So, when I asked what it said, he told me it was just a couple friends trying to get his goat. He kept it, telling me he wanted to use it to get back at them–kid stuff."

      "I'm gonna need to see this letter. And you have no idea who sent it?"

      "None whatsoever!" Feliciano whimpered. The detective was writing down every word at lightning speed.

      "Go on."

      "For weeks he was asking about that case. I couldn't believe it! He started staying out later, but I didn't think anything of it! He's seventeen and he always came home until two nights ago."

      "Do you know where he went? Who he was with?" Alfred eyed him suspiciously, on edge because the restaurateur had to mention the one case that made him want to dig six feet down, and then seven more, and bury himself alive. That failed case.

      "Sì...mio fratello–"

      "English, Feli!" Alfred groaned, "For the record!" Feliciano steeled his nerves and nodded,

      "Yes...he was in Center City most of the time. The streetcar driver confirmed that. As for who he was with, well, he always went alone."

      "I'll get out there in the morning, kid. I'll find your brother and bring him home."

      "Thank you detective! Grazie!"

      "Just doing my job." Alfred said robotically as he finished writing, "You should go home and try to get some rest. I won't let him slip away." Feliciano smiled at him weakly and stood on shaky legs. Alfred got up and led him to the door. With a gentle hug, he sent the Italian on his way and locked up.

      The detective wandered wearily to his couch, shedding his slacks, so he could finally catch enough z's to rewrite all the names in the phone book–twice. But an easy rest was too far out of reach for the detective. Not when memories from a year and a half before flooded his weary mind. Not when regret and grief gnawed at his mortal soul. The case that changed his entire life...the case that started two years ago...that case would come back to life that night. His dreams would inevitably become those awful memories. Yet, he couldn't resist the urge to fall into a deep death-like sleep. He would let those dreams come. So without hesitation, he collapsed on his couch, too tired to wrap himself in his blanket, and greeted the void while his thoughts zoomed around his head. They were manifesting the second his eyelids fluttered closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to switch from Wattpad and I hate it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the flashback

      The city was already alive and vibrant. A young detective on his way to the station with a box of sinkers whistled as he boarded the light green streetcar headed for Center City. His bright smile was contagious, hardly anyone could resist the joy and love for living that radiated from him. His cerulean eyes sparkled under his glasses as the car rolled down the tracks in the city he so loved.

      Junior Detective Alfred F. Jones was a prodigy in his department. He had the skill, the talent, the temperament–what he lacked was a partner on the force. As a twenty year old decked in a plain blue suit and red tie daily, he joked that none of the older officers had the right style to work with him. In all reality, they just slowed him down.

      The autumn sidewalks he passed were busy and bright. Merchants out selling fruits, vegetables, and baked lures to bring customers into bakeries and cafés hindered the children running and playing against the brick backdrop of the apartment buildings. Early morning commuters shuffled past them toward the train station. Alfred watched his world move around him, glad to be able to be a part of something larger than his backwater hometown.

      With a tug on the cord, he halted the trolley at the stop right in front of the rust-red brick police station. Alfred stepped off with a grateful wave to the conductor and went inside.

      He passed the reception area and punched in at the partition that hid the station from the rest of the world. Turning to go to his desk, he saw rows of identical wooden pieces filled with his seniors. To his left there were two doors–one that led to temporary confinement and interrogation rooms, the other was next to his desk, it was the chief's office. It was just his luck when the door opened and a slight blonde with thick eyebrows motioned him over. Alfred hurried to him, pausing to set the doughnuts on his desk.

      He entered the chief's office nervously and closed the door. The room was lined with file cabinets and odd case files. The desk in the center was orderly with a hot kettle of tea amongst papers and pens and a prominent file stood out. The chief, Arthur Kirkland, sat behind it facing two cushioned chairs–one was occupied. The occupant was a short man with dark, wavy hair coiffed neatly except for a wild stray. His hard and serious face was set in a scowl, and his black suit moved with him well.

      "Morning Jones." Arthur yawned, "I suppose you're wondering why I called you in."

      "Well yeah! I didn't even get a chance to eat a sinker!" Alfred gawked as he took the free seat. Arthur knew he was unstable when he was hungry.

      "Detective Jones, this is Detective Romano Lovino, he transferred here from across the river. Detective Lovino, Junior Detective Alfred Jones, your partner on this assignment."

      "Hiya! Nice to meet ya!" Alfred grinned and held out his hand. Romano gave it one look and scoffed. Alfred gingerly pulled his hand back and looked to Arthur with a frown, not liking his partner's attitude. The chief poured a cup of tea and sighed.

      "As you're both aware, organized crime is a huge issue around here. And recently the Vargas Family has been fairly busy. Luciano's heists are getting more and more bold, threatening. It seems he's smuggling more than just alcohol now. Mayor Smith wants him behind bars." He paused to take a sip of tea and to let the information sink in. He was asking them to take on the single most dangerous Don in the underworld–Lethal Luciano. He was notorious for his knife fighting skills and temper. He loved to torture and kill anyone who got in his way. And Arthur wanted Alfred on the case? His jaw dropped.

      "You and Detective Lovino are the best we have." Arthur continued, "You're going undercover, we need results."

      "Is anyone home up there?" Romano scoffed, "They'll get one look at this bluenosed sap and kick him to the curb!" Arthur glared at Romano and frowned,

      "Jones is one of our most versatile men. He might seem like some foolish farm boy, but I've seen him in action. They'll suspect you're the mole before they suspect him."

      "Prove it." Romano leaned back in his chair, not taking Arthur seriously. Alfred snorted and shook his head. The mood around him suddenly went from the cheerful optimistic kid to one of a serious, dangerous man who ought not be tested. He leaned on his elbows, glancing to Romano with a coy smirk.

      "I don't have to prove a damn thing, Lovino. Artie's word is final around here. But hey, you want me to prove myself, then why don't you fucking give me something to prove." he purred coolly. Romano's eyebrows met his hairline and his hazel eyes went wide. Arthur spit out his tea,

      "Language Jones! Bloody Hell!"

      "Artie, your mouth is fouler than mine, so don't get in a lather!" Alfred scoffed, then addressed Romano again, with a hint of malice in his voice, "So some Reuben like me can't be on the up and up? Dry up daddy-o!"

      "This one's a fucking live-wire!" Romano laughed, "Details, limey!"

      "Call me limey again, wop–"

       "No need to get sore!" Alfred yelped, coming back into his normal state. He had gotten between Romano and Arthur before the Italian could attack. That was a bit of a low blow coming from the prestigious chief of police. He grabbed the file, making sure Arthur was watching his hand as he tucked it under his arm,

      "'Mano and I will read this over and get scheming over a cup of joe. Outside of the station. Swell?" The fuming Brit huffed and agreed. Alfred grabbed Romano's wrist and half dragged him from the office. If only he knew things were going to get interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

      Alfred grabbed a couple donuts from his desk as he dragged his new partner out of the station. Romano kicked and fought against him until they were through the door. He was not a fan of being dragged around by someone who was about five inches taller than him. They casually walked down the street at a leisurely pace, passing delis and butcher shops. The bakery smelled of fresh bread while the five-and-dime reeked of cheap trinkets. Romano was leading the way, not that Alfred minded. He was happy to munch on his doughnuts and study his partner. He liked this man so far, but something just wasn't adding up, he was hiding something. Romano Lovino...such an odd last name. He would figure it out eventually, it was in his nature.

      They found their way to South Philly, unsurprisingly. Romano was in his natural element as he smiled and greeted the people he passed, all of them eyed Alfred suspiciously. When every cop thinks you have a connection to the mob, you tend to not trust them. Al just let this friendlier Romano lead the way. And he led them to a restaurant that wasn't open yet, Fratelli's.

      "Hey, they're closed!" Alfred yelped as Romano opened the door. His face fell and he scoffed at the detective,

      "We're not ordering food. These bums will let me in." He held the door open and waved Alfred inside first. He was instantly greeted with a warmth he had never before encountered. The beautiful rust-colored brick flooring that rose up near the kitchen to form the back part of a pizza oven, and soft beige walls with forest green vines painted in the corners felt like an Italian villa. Quaint, wooden, square tables and chairs dotted the floor and there was a charming bar for patrons to sit and dine. The restaurant was cozy in all, and smelled of fresh bread, oregano, and tomatoes. If he knew then that this scent would haunt him forever, he would have plugged his nose.

      "Have a seat." Romano huffed, closing the door, "I'll let them know we're here."

      "Who's 'them' Mano?" Alfred picked a table with two chairs near the back and set his briefcase down. He sat with his back to the kitchen and grinned.

      "What's in your head, a load of bricks?" Romano crossed his arms, "The owners and the staff."

     "Well yeah, but who are they? You know them, right? Humor me, would ya?" Alfred blinked a pair of puppy dog eyes at him. Romano scowled and let his arms fall to his sides, hands balling into fists. He was locked up tighter than an inmate at Eastern State Penitentiary as he marched into the kitchen. Alfred had to let it slide for the time being. He had his ways of getting information.

       And speaking of information, he decided to flip through the reports. Half of the pages were detailed descriptions of weapon exchanges and bootlegging with some of the goons too low in rank for bail. The other half was full of reported murders, gruesome deaths with pictures. Alfred cringed at the sheer brutality of them all. He was glad Romano picked an empty restaurant.

      He shifted the napkin holder to distract himself and noticed a note taped to the back. He read it and smiled. It said in Italian:

                      " _F., call Nonno V. He misses you. –L. (+39) 081-xxxxxxx_ "

      Alfred might have been a stupid farm kid when he was younger–but he was damned if he didn't learn Italian when he came up here! No one knew about it either, except the guy who taught him.

      "Hey, don't start without me bastard!" Romano yelped and raced to the table. He pulled a chair next to Alfred's and flipped to the opening abstract.

      "He's selling weapons to rising fascist groups in Spain?" Romano commented on the report, "This one guy, Emilio Castro Gomez, told us that much in exchange for parole. We should find him and get more dirt on this. I want to know who the client is."

      "Well he won't sing anymore, pal." Alfred hummed as Romano kept reading, "Castro is dead. He was murdered in his hotel room in Florida. Likely one of Luciano's personal victims. He was heading to Cuba–he had a ticket for the first boat out of there. He had no connections in Cuba–he was obviously fleeing for his life. He's a dead end."

      "Everyone mentioned on this list is dead. How are we gonna get to him?" Romano huffed.

      "I've been digging into Luciano's relationships outside of crime. He has a brother, Flavio, who owns a tailor shop–clean as a whistle, homosexual–but you didn't hear that from me. Great taste in clothes. They have a younger brother, crafty little shit, no use to us. And then there's his family in Naples. A grandfather, a great uncle, and three second cousins–the cousins vanished from police record about two years ago. They probably don't know a thing, but they're still under suspicion. We should find them and get all they know about Lethal Luci." Alfred shrugged, and noticed the color drain from his partner's face.

 

      "They're p-probably still in Italy! We should find people who are involved with Luciano's business. Who's making the guns? Bootleggers aren't that skilled. His phone was monitored and we found him calling this phone number a lot this month. One Lou Axeman. Another dead end, no other connections whatsoever. Just a bimbo with a badly hidden German accent."

      "Lou Axeman...are you kidding?" Alfred snorted, "I know Lewis Smith was taken, but that! That takes the cake!" Romano glared at him. He did not appreciate his partner laughing so loudly, this early, in this restaurant.

      "What the hell is so funny?!" the Italian snapped. Alfred calmed down and smiled,

      "Lutz Beilschmidt is terrible with creating alternate names! Axeman, it's English for 'Beilmann,' which is a step away from Beilschmidt! And-and Lou? That's way too obvious!"

      "You know this asshole?"

      "You betcha, pal! He runs a warehouse on the docks! I nabbed him a few times when he was ossified. Got his fix in Canada, so he served a mild sentence." Alfred flipped to the last page of the report, where they had details of his latest heist including a photo. He skimmed it over and continued talking,

      "Besides, Lutz isn't the guy we should interrogate. He's charismatic, and smart, but he's pretty clean aside from the Canadian giggle water. The real brains here has gotta be his brother! Right here!" he pointed to the black and white photo smugly. Romano looked over at the scene captured in that rectangle. It was on the docks in front of the warehouses on the eastern edge of town, early morning, low tide, blood splattered everywhere. The body tape on the ground showed that a big man was killed off brutally. In the background, more importantly were two men talking to a detective whose back was to the camera. One man was big and stocky with an easy-going countenance, messy blonde hair, and defined muscles. The other man, who Alfred pointed to, was certainly smaller and frailer. His hair was long and white and even without color, Romano could tell this man's eyes were pale blue, as pale as death.

      "Well damn, Jones! Do they ever leave the docks?" Romano hummed.

      "Far as I know, only Lutz does. I'll head down there tonight, get some details." Alfred grinned, "I don't think it's a good idea for you to join me. They know I'm with the fuzz, not you...and I think we should get inside Luci's little club, don't you Lovino?" Alfred chuckled, but Romano froze on the spot like a deer in headlights.

      "What did you just call me?" he choked out.

      "Your last name, pal. If you don't like it, don't call me Jones!" Alfred laughed. In the back of his mind, he noted he would have to call "Nonno V." He hardly knew his partner, and already the man was suspicious. When he was done with Lutz, he would certainly call that number.


	4. Chapter 4

      The fog that settled over the docks at three in the morning was always so thick. It made it hard to see. It made his fake glasses hazy. It made his skin crawl. Detective Jones was utterly alone, wandering the dark, dangerous path to find and corner one Lou Axeman, Lutz Beilschmidt. He adjusted his brown fedora and shoved his hands in his trenchcoat. It was always cold on the river no matter what time of year. The hazy mist settled low around the tall wooden warehouses and engulfed the boardwalk where the detective moved. Dim streetlamps dotted his trail and brought odd barrels, fishing nets, and wood crates into sight--- if having the sight of Helen Keller was the goal. But Alfred knew exactly where to go.

      He found his way to the Beilschmidt warehouse and knocked three times on the loading door. He waited a minute before the plank rolled to a side ever so slightly, and a tired, frightened man peeked his head through the crack. He had bags under his cobalt eyes, his blonde hair was messier than usual, and the eerie lighting highlighted the scar on his left cheek. Lutz. He breathed a sigh of relief and let the detective inside.

      Alfred glanced around. There were dozens of large crates stacked in rows along the floor. He could see the ladders on either side of the wall that led to the catwalk, where odd ropes dipped over the rafters. It was warm under the ceiling lights, a much welcomed change to the outside. To his left, Alfred saw a door that led to Lutz's living arrangements with his brother.

      "Jones! What brings you here this late?" Lutz laughed nervously. It was the laugh of a school kid who got caught sleeping in class. He wrapped his jacket around his body like a shield and fingered at the tan sleeves.

      "I'm on a case and I need information. I should ask why you're up and dressed so late. Expecting company?"

      "No, no. What you call late, I call early, Detective. So, er...what do you need me for?" Lutz's voice shook and cracked, a liar he was not. Alfred pushed his glasses up his nose and cracked his knuckles,

      "There was a murder here in the last month. You remember, dontcha?" Lutz nodded apprehensively, for a strongman he was looking pretty meek, "Well, Lou, I need all you can dish out on one Luciano Vargas. Seems he's called you a few times."

      "Yeah? I haven't been around to answer those calls. I wonder why he's calling?" Lutz stepped back and wove his fingers in and out of the curls on the back of his neck. Alfred's eyebrows rose.

      "Klaus around? He might know–"

      "About that...he left the country right after you guys cleared his name. Muti is happy to see him again. He was a basketcase..." the German cut in. There was a firmness to his voice, hiding worry, but nothing more. Alfred might have believed him.

      "Basketcase? I was the guy to tell you we cleared him. He wasn't all that upset, Lutz. Why did he skedaddle? Sell it to me straight, it's late, I have other business, and you know what I'm like when I'm angry." He took off his glasses and idly cleaned them on his sleeve as his gaze bore into the German.

      "He was worried that Luciano might hurt us. I don't want to leave. You know I didn't see anything the night of the murder---He doesn't. For a whole month he's been calling, threatening me if I talk to the cops and rat out the killer! He's always watching, isn't he?"

      "Is that all of it?" Alfred hummed.

      "Ja! Warum—Why would I hide anything else?" Lutz gulped. He was frazzled, and for good reason. Alfred replaced his glasses and sighed,

      "Who killed him? Off the record. I won't go after the perp til I have another source or I get that bastard behind bars. I don't want you getting hurt after all."

      "I really can't say. Like I said, he's always watching. But I know another witness–never brought in. A Spaniard, Santiago Fernández...something. He won't talk. He's close to Vargas' brother."

      "I'll check it out. You've been a real help, pal. Take it easy" Alfred flashed a half smile, which Lutz returned. The detective saw himself out of the warehouse and went to a nearby pay phone.

      He pulled out a couple of dimes and dropped them in the slot. He dialed the number from the restaurant and waited as the phone rang.

      "Ciao!" A cheerful man greeted and continued in Italian, " _This is Romulus Vargas. May I ask who's calling?_ " Alfred cleared his throat and tried to hide his accent.

      " _Hello. I'm terribly sorry. I think I have the wrong number._ "

      " _Not a problem! Goodbye!_ "

      "Ciao." Alfred hummed. He frowned as he hung up the phone. He was suddenly very curious about his partner. 


	5. Chapter 5

      It was business as usual in the office the next day. Alfred was done his second cup of joe when Romano came up to his desk across from Alfred's and sat down. He glared at Alfred.

      "Mornin' sunshine!" the blonde yawned. Romano was unamused. He was up late the night before, doing a number of things–one being a background check on his partner. Alfred had to be a certain kind of cop for things to work. And he was.

      "You don't sleep much, do you?" Lovino asked and folded his arms.

      "Nope! Crime doesn't sleep, why should I?"

      "We have a meeting with the chief in five minutes. You should be awake for it."

      "Artie? The man knows me! Any assignment–any conditions–I'll catch on." Alfred stretched in his chair and got up to visit one very salty chief of police. Romano followed closely and shut the door when they were in the office. Arthur's back was to them as he skimmed some files on his shelf.

      "Have a seat you two. I hope you've gotten to know each other in depth. I know Jones has a tendency to check everyone he works with." he said, not turning around. Romano sat down furthest from the door and crossed his legs with a scowl. Alfred plopped down next to him and yawned.

      "How much do you know?" Romano pouted.

      "You have connections to the Vargas family."

      "Al, I'm surprised you haven't got it yet." Arthur hummed, pulling a file marked 'unsolved' from the group.

      "I'm afraid this one is closed...I have to relabel it." He turned and dropped the folder on the desk so that it fell open to a photo of Romano.

      "We need a mole inside Luciano's organization and we found the perfect volunteer. Lovino Vargas. As you can guess, Detective Lovino uses a fake name for protection as do his brothers. He is willing to risk his life to apprehend this criminal. Are you capable of working with a member of the Vargas family?"

      "I know you are." Lovino added quietly as everything crashed onto the detective at once, "But are you willing to?"

      "That depends. Are you willing to work with a street-fighting bumpkin and former moonshiner who can never go to Mexico again?" he smirked at the Italian. Lovino sniffed and smiled at him. He held out his hand and said,

      "Partners?" Al grabbed it and laughed,

      "Partners!"

      "Here's the skinny." Arthur cut in, "you are pretending to be Lovino's body guard, or whatever they have. You will be given a certain amount of immunity during your investigation, considering you will only be able to report every month or so, unless you find something big." He took a sip of tea and eyed the officers,

      "Al, because your last name is common, I'm only requiring you to use your nickname as opposed to 'Alfred' got it? I expect you to play your role flawlessly." The young detective nodded. He would make Rudolph Valentino look like the star of a school play.

      "What else?" Lovino asked.

      "Find proof of his murders, bootlegging, and gun smuggling. The more we have against him, the harder it will be to pay bail. Make it impossible for him to pay."

      "Applesauce!" Lovino scoffed, "He has more than Rockefeller! There is absotively, positutly no way to go that high."

      "Then we find enough dirt to get rid of the possibility for bail or parole." Alfred shrugged. Arthur motioned to him and smiled.

      "Results gentlemen. You are dismissed. Get out of the station and prepare to infiltrate the mob. Don't come back for the next month–unless you get nabbed. Most of the other officers will know you, but they won't rat you out. This case is everything. Don't fuck it up." Arthur stood, and led the detectives out the door. Alfred smirked at Lovino and said,

      "Got a plan? Or a base of operation?"

      "Of course. But first let's make you look less like a boy scout cop." Lovino motioned to the conservative blue suit and black tie. Alfred pouted. He didn't have the funds for a new wardrobe!

      "Chief allowed us $200 to get ready. He wants results, and I think we can get those clothes for a discount." Lovino patted his pocket with his wallet. He grabbed Alfred's hand and dragged him from the station. 


	6. Chapter 6

      "Flavio's? You think this is a good idea?" Alfred gulped outside the boutique. Lovino led him in with an affirmative grunt. The cream walls were lined with windows, and shelves of hats and shoes. Racks of high-end suits lined the floor, and there was a checkout counter in the back. Behind said counter was a blonde man in a white suit with a pink scarf, reading. Flavio Vargas was not exactly subtle.

      "Lovi!" he squealed when he looked up from his book. Lovino frowned and crossed his arms. Flavio beamed and scurried over with a grin.

      " _What brings you over here_?" Flavio initiated a conversation in full-blown Italian.

      "Luciano." Lovino huffed. Flavio's jaw ticked. Alfred noticed, that was a sore spot.

      " _Even when_  Prozio Romulus  _has that farm? Do you really need more than that_?"

      " _I need to clear the family name. Don't even for a second think that I am ever gonna stoop that low._ " Lovino growled. The tension in the room was as thick as parmesan ready to be grated over a plate of fresh pasta. Alfred didn't like it, so he cleared his throat.

      "Alfred!" Flavio gasped, finally acknowledging the third man, "I haven't seen you in ages!  _How are you darling_?" He switched into his native tongue. Alfred smiled at him. Lovino glared at his cousin–the idiot just had to use the language Alfred wouldn't understand. What an a—

      " _I'm fine. I've been working like a dog! It's been rough trying to keep up with work and practicing all these languages!_ " Alfred laughed. Lovino's jaw dropped.

      "Allen taught you well! How's your Spanish? I have a friend who could help you with it. Have you met Santiago Fernández Carriedo?" That name...it had to be the witness Lutz identified.

      "That would be the bee's knees! But Lovino and I are here on business. I need a couple suits. Dud me up Flavs!" Alfred chuckled.

      "We need the most basic style Luciano ever gets and two pairs of shoes." Lovino added scowling. He knew damn well that Alfred could fight, and act, and that he was far from a straight arrow, but this. This was a little secret the American kept hidden all too well, and it was unnerving.

       "Make damn sure to keep it well under $200. I don't have that much kale."

       Flavio tapped his chin. He had just the outfits for the American. And judging by his second cousin's tone, he figured he was working on a tight budget. It was best to start with the shoes. Seven suits, ties, and shirts, he guessed, and two pairs of shoes. He could manage that and at discount for his family and have it all come to $160 at minimum.

      "That's easy!" Flavio flicked his wrist, "Al, darling, follow me to the back. I have just the thing!" And the detective obeyed. What Flavio sold was woven gold, he wouldn't disappoint. Lovino crossed his arms and watched them go, waiting to see the end results...

      "May I present the new Al Jones!" Flavio sang as he strolled to the front with his arms stretched out flamboyantly. Lovino stood up from the wall he was leaning on and watched the man following Flavio.

       He was lean and fit, and his personally tailored suit showed him off better than his blue secondhand one. He had an air of confidence and control that seemed to overshadow his boyish charm. The fake glasses were gone and Flavio had taken the liberty of slicking back his honey hair. The gray pinstriped pattern made him look taller from his shoulders to his shiny new shoes. The detective was out to lunch, and one fiery devil crept into his place with a new charm in his smile and a dangerous glint in his eyes. The guys and dolls down in the speakeasy were going to fall hard and fast.

      "I'll be damned!" Lovino wolf-whistled. It was no secret he could acknowledge the man was a cake-eater. Alfred didn't know it then, that his partner resembled his second cousin in more than just looks. In fact he wouldn't know for a while. All he knew was that the two similar men in front of him were taking in the sights and appraising his new style.

      "Ooh if he were interested, I would show him a good time!" Flavio whispered suggestively to his cousin under his breath. Lovino blushed and shoved him away, making Al snicker. He was not going to think about his partner that way...even if Al had "It" when he cleaned up. And that boy sure had "It" going for him.

      "Hey fellas, how do I look?" Al spun around about a yard away from them. Hopeful cyan eyes landed on them when his rotation was complete. Lovino smirked and circled his finger, wanting another look at the suit. Al turned again. Lovino nodded smugly and turned to his cousin, motioning to the counter. They went to finish the transaction, while Al fiddled with his cuffs and listened in to their private Italian chatter.

      " _So you're taking him out? Good luck!"_ Flavio said with a smile, as far as Al could tell.

_"You're not upset I'm going to get your little brother jailed or killed?_ " Lovino replied.

      " _Heavens no! He deserves to serve time! If he dies first, good riddance. He killed my lover, someone who understood me and my reluctance to even provide clothes for that mob!_ " Flavio sounded insulted. Al made sure to take note of that confession. It could be useful later.

      " _You hate him._ " Lovino hummed knowingly.

      " _Of course not...it's complicated...okay, yes, but you have to understand. Maximo wasn't gonna talk!_ " Flavio gasped. That's right! Maximo was bumped off a month ago. Al could taste the resentment that trickled from Flavio's lips.

      " _I'm not judging, dumbass. I need to ask a small favor. I need to make a scene, an entrance. Got any suggestions that won't get me killed?_ " Lovino quickly changed the subject. Al wanted to hear this.

      " _Just one. He had the band rearrange an old piece to modernize it. You know the words by heart, tell the band to play 'that new jive' and give them a show. We both know Luci can't sing for his life, it will be a relief!_ " Flavio laughed. Al would have to get to know that song, if only to appeal to his partner more.

      "Grazie. So what's the damage?" Lovino asked. Alfred stopped listening. Flavio's former lover was named Maximo, huh? The man killed in front of the warehouse. The murder Santiago witnessed...or so Alfred believed. That might not have any connection to the case he was working on, but it was useful to remember. Personally, Alfred though Flavio should stop beating around the bush with the Spaniards and get with Allen, they had more than enough chemistry! But it wasn't his call, and he had better things to worry about, like going into the proverbial lion's den that night.


	7. Chapter 7

      After that little shopping spree, Lovino escorted Al to his apartment so he could pack up and move to their base of operations. One taxi ride later and he was back at the same restaurant as before. Fratelli's was lively and full of hungry dinner diners. The smell wafting through the air–fresh bread, tomatoes, and oregano–had his mouth watering. A plate of hot pasta sounded amazing as he pulled his two suitcases from the trunk. Lovino paid the driver before leading Alfred around the side of the building.

      "The door's over there, pal." Al said. Lovino rolled his eyes at him and went to the rickety fire escape that led to the second floor.

      "Give me one of those. I'll show you where you'll sleep. Unpack while I let them know you're here." Lovino snatched the lighter of the two bags and started climbing the ladder. Al watched him scale the building one-handed, admiring the way the stubborn man moved so fluidly. Once he was at the top Alfred followed. There were two pairs of windows, one near the front of the restaurant, the other in the back. Lovino went through the back window, forcing the suitcase through.

       Al whistled when he got inside. It was a dingy little room with a closet and a dresser and one bed. He knew these places were small, but a room like that was too tight for him. Lovino set a suitcase on the white sheets and sighed,

      "You can use the left side of the closet and the top half of the dresser. We'll figure out who sleeps on the bed later."

      "What do you mean?"

      "This is my room. You're staying here. It looks less suspicious if you're playing my bodyguard. Now I'm gonna go tell them you're here before I forget. Don't move." Lovino shrugged. He scurried out of the room before Alfred could ask him who "they" were.

       He flipped opened the first case and pulled out his socks as he mulled his situation over. Lovino came from a supposedly wealthier family, yet his cousin lived in the States and ran a mob, his other cousin had to crawl his way to success, and he was in a tiny tenement working for the cops. He was a Vargas–he and Arthur knew where his brothers were–knew, while Alfred could only guess. He had one thought about it, but he couldn't be sure.

       Feliciano and Marcello Vargas. The detective had no idea what they looked like, where they were, or what they were doing. They might've flown the coop and gone to Argentina or Spain instead. They could be over in California or up in Massachusetts. Those two were so mysterious. They were gnawing at the back of his mind as he placed his clothes inside the top drawer of the dresser.

       He opened the second suitcase and pulled his new suits out by the hanger. He hung them in the closet and sighed. Lovino lived in this small hole in the wall and he was willing to share his space with a loud young gumshoe just to clear his family name. Admirable. Stupid. There was more to Lovino's motivation to throw Luciano in jail.

       Alfred closed his suitcases and shoved them under the bed. He stayed on his knees, taking in his surroundings–the creaky metal of the fire escape, the intoxicating scent of the restaurant, the sound of footsteps nearing him. His eyes were on the top of the sheets as the door swung open.

      "Hey bastard!" Lovino called as he walked in. Alfred glanced over at him and his heart stopped.

       A young man stood behind him with golden eyes and rust-brown hair. He had a smile that could be mistaken for sinister–he was a copy of Luciano. He moved his arm to his hip, causing Alfred to spring to his feet and tackled the man, who let out a high-pitched squeal as his back hit the floor with a thud.

      "Hey! Get offa him!" Lovino tore Alfred from the young man. Alfred got another look at the man's terrified, tear-stained face. He was too innocent, too sweet, too gentle to be the head of the mafia. The boy scrambled to his feet and rubbed the back of his head.

      "What the fuck is your problem?! Pouncing on a stranger!" Lovino smacked him on the head and growled. Alfred winced and sheepishly smiled at him,

      "Hey pal, sorry about that, I'm Al."

      "F-F-Feliciano L-Lovino." he sniffled.

      "Pleased to meetcha! Again sorry for attacking, I thought you were Lucia—"

      "What?!" Feliciano cried and backed into the wall, "Romano! Help! Luciano's gonna kill me!"

      "He's not gonna kill you!" Lovino grabbed his shoulders and guided him to sit on the bed, "I promise you, idiota!" Lovino had him settled and turned to glare at his partner. It was like something in him snapped, like you burnt his pizza and he was hungry. But instead of hunger, rage filled him. He marched up to Al and stared up at him with a twitching scowl,

      "Don't you ever use that name in this house again! Not around him, not around Marcello, and not in the restaurant. Got it!? Because if you don't I swear to God I will take you for a ride and leave your body in a river if you ever scare my brother like that again!" the Italian snarled. Al was stunned and a little scared, pinned against the wall. He nodded rapidly until Lovino backed up and sighed,

      "Go downstairs. Feliciano made us some pasta before we head off the the club. If you see Marcello, tell him Feliciano will be back in five or Lovino will fill in." Al did as he was told, only looking back once to see Lovino kneeling in front of a very shaken and mostly stirred Feliciano. He had just figured out Lovino's motivation, and he couldn't call it stupid.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You miiiight want to listen to this while reading, it's jazzy! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPy5_9zGRXs

      The club was swinging even though Lovino and Alfred were outside of it in the restaurant that hid the illicit activities. The bouncer, hiding behind the elegant oak door, wasn't dealing with the newcomers well. All they knew was that this man had dark, hooded eyes that had a red tint in the right light, and he was from a Nordic country–maybe Denmark.

      "What's the password?" the man huffed. Alfred glanced to Lovino, who looked spiffy and lethal in his black suit. The Italian scowled and said,

      "You don't fucking recognize me? If you knew who I am you would be on your knees—!"

      "Boss, c'mon. Lemme handle this. You had a long flight. The pass is 'Calloway' pal." Al spoke. If he and Lovino could keep up their act, they were golden. So far so good.

      "Correct." the bouncer grunted and slammed his window shut. The door opened to reveal a juice joint fit for a king, and a miserable blonde with a neat comb over. Lovino huffed and strutted past him, Al was on his tail.

       The spacious room was dimly lit with round, clothed tables dotting half of the floor like sand dollars in the moonlight. The stage in the back had a jazz band playing a smooth sound. On the left wall was the bar–classy oak and an assortment of booze. Lovino led Alfred to a table near the front, earning odd looks from the patrons as the passed.

      "You get us a couple drinks–I want red wine." Lovino hummed as he kept going toward the stage.

      "What're you gonna do?" Al asked. He couldn't get drinks and hold their table. This wasn't part of the plan they made over Feliciano's amazing pasta. Then again it was a loose plan from the start. What was Lovino up to?

      "Huh?"

      "What are you gonna do?" Al repeated himself. An impish and flirty smirk crossed Lovino's face.

      "Imma gonna do the best I can!" he purred and winked. Al sat down, gawking at his partner as he strutted–fucking strutted–away. Lovino went to the stage and leaned against the stairs as he waited for the band to finish. Al observed his almost too relaxed form. He didn't even notice when a young man stole the seat next to him.

       "Hey man, what's a baby grand like you doin' in a joint like this?" the man purred and rubbed Alfred's shoulder suggestively. Instinctively, Alfred spun around to attack but froze with a dark look on his face. The man in question had wine red hair styled like his own and red-brown eyes that twinkled deviously. His smile was enchanting, even though he was missing a canine tooth.

      "I'll be damned! What kind of a cake-eater comes in with a little fella like him!?" The man pointed toward Lovino with his thumb, "If you wanna know what a man feels like, you should come to me, baby! Allen D. Jones, name your price!" Allen purred. So he didn't recognize Alfred–swell.

      "Cake-eater, huh? Pal, I ain't some ladies man. And I'm not interested in a good time tonight. Boss is on the prowl and I gotta watch his back!" Alfred laughed as the music faded. From the corner of his eye he saw Lovino climb on the stage and talk to the pianist.

      "Well if not tonight, maybe another time. I wanna get to know a cutie like you! What's your name man?"

      "Al. Al Jones." Alfred looked him dead in the eye as sudden realization flooded Allen's face, "Pleased t'meetcha."

      "Well, well, well, Al, what kind of business brings you here?" Allen smirked. He knew exactly who Alfred was–and he was no snitch.

      "I'm tailing him." Alfred motioned toward the stage. Lovino was up front holding a microphone. He cleared his throat and a spotlight hit him.

      "Ciao-ciao!" he grinned whimsically while not sacrificing his cool and dangerous appearance.

      "Don't mind me! This next song has a vocal accompaniment, and I am here to provide!" He snapped his fingers to mark the time and started singing the opening.

      "Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più

         Mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu

         Poi d'improvviso venivo dal vento rapito

         E incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito" the band joined in immediately after, keeping key with his smooth voice.

      "Volare oh, oh...

         Cantare ohohohoh

         Nel blu dipinto di blu

         Felice di stare lassù" he glided across the stage, swaying with the beat and keeping his eyes on the crowd, now fully rapt with him.

       Alfred watched in awe. The serious, irritable little man who he called his partner was more than just that. As his angelic voice filled the room and he trotted about the stage with a bounce in his step, Lovino Vargas showed a different side of himself. His coy gaze swept across his audience, riling the dolls on the floor. His impish smirk melted hearts.

       Even Allen was drooling over the new performer. He wasn't speaking but he mouthed one word, "Flavio," at the exact second Alfred spared him a glance. They did look alike, and hair dye did exist, so Al shrugged it off and enjoyed the show.

      "Ma tutti i sogni nell'alba svaniscono perché

         Quando tramonta, la luna li porta con sé

         Ma io continuo a sognare negli occhi tuoi belli

         Che sono blu come un cielo trapunto di stelle" Lovino sang, making eye contact with him during the last two lines and winking. Al felt his face heat up as that fox kept up his act without missing a beat.

       "Ma io continuo a sognare negli occhi tuoi belli, Che sono blu come in cielo trapunto di stelle," Alfred knew what it meant, "But I keep dreaming in your beautiful eyes which are as blue as the sky quilted by stars." His eyes, a lighter blue with a deep greenish tint, might not have matched the description perfectly, but that wink...It threw him for a loop. Lovino was an attractive man–too attractive for his own good. Alfred could easily fall for him but he refused to mix business and pleasure. Allen on the other hand, had to lean over and whisper in his ear,

      "Damn! He can take a ride for free!" Alfred ignored that comment and kept watching Lovino as the song finished.

      "Grazie!" He hummed. The joint erupted into applause. Alfred was part of the group. Allen was bold enough to wolf whistle. Lovino smiled and took a bow.

       As soon as he bent all the way over a throwing knife flew over him. It would have hit him in the throat if he were standing. A woman screamed, alerting the Italian that something happened. He stood straight and pouted, scanning the back of the room. In an instant Alfred was out of his seat, headed for the stage. But then Lovino smiled wickedly at someone in the back of the club.

      "Is that how you say hello around here?" He purred into the mic, never having put it on its stand, "Or is that treatment reserved for family!" Al's head snapped to follow Lovino's gaze. And that's when he saw  _him_.

       Lethal Luciano Vargas was stalking up to the stage. His auburn curls were neatly combed around his face and his red irises were locked on the intruder. He exuded the air of an unpredictable Don and his steps were filled with rage. This was the man they were after, and everything seemed all the more challenging.

       "I would have never expected to see you here Lovi." Luciano spoke with a hint of teasing in his cool and collected tone.

      "Luci, Luci, Luci!" Lovino scoffed and put the mic on a stand. He leapt from the stage and landed in front of the Don. Alfred hurried to his side.

      "I came to help you. After all the family business should have some family involved." Lovino hummed as Alfred came up next to him. Luciano eyed him suspiciously. His eyes raked over every detail of his form like a buyer at an automobile auction doubting his bid.

      "This guy givin' you trouble, Boss?" Al glared right back at Luciano and cracked his knuckles. Lovino waved a hand to calm him and said,

      "Cool it, Al. This is my favorite cousin, Luciano. I wouldn't fight him if I were you. Luci, this is Al. Al Jones, my personal guard." Luciano squinted and growled in the back of his throat–he wasn't killing anyone and he panicked his guests. They were watching the scene, horrified. He exhaled through his nose and shut his eyes.

      "Let me buy you boys a drink. We'll talk business." Luci smirked and adjusted his cuffs nonchalantly. Lovino nodded, accepting his proposal. He led them to the bar, Alfred all the while wondered. He wondered what would come next now that they had a foot in the doorway.  


	9. Chapter 9

      "So you came to join me?" Luciano sloshed his Tuxedo #2 cocktail in its glass. Lovino remained silent, sitting across from him with Al on his right. The club was swinging again and the jive whistling through the air was solid. Luciano had a way of riling a crowd and calming it right away. It was unnerving, really.

      "I never expected it from you, Lovino. Had a change of heart?"

      "Nonno is bankrupt, there's no honest way to save his farm." Lovino lied coolly, pushing his untouched Ward 8 away from him. Alfred stared at his Bees Knees cocktail not even hiding that he wouldn't touch it. Luciano stared at the blonde when Lovino spoke. Studying him. Alfred's hand shot out when Lovino lifted his drink. Looking directly at Luciano, he said,

      "You don't wanna get caught up with the fuzz. This is some strong moonshine. We know what you're like all ossified." Alfred knew damn well what some coffin varnish smelled like compared to drinkable booze.

      "Ah, I see your guard knows his drinks. And you don't." Luciano hummed, unconcerned that they weren't drinking the slow-working poison in the two men's drinks, one of whom was his cousin! Lovino scoffed and put his cocktail down.

      "I wasn't gonna drink it. Like you I enjoy swirling the glass and pretending to be spiffy." he raised his eyebrows at his scowling cousin, set the full glass on the table as far away from himself as possible, and sighed, "Al doesn't mess around when it comes to hooch. He used to craft panther piss before he started working for me. Doesn't let me get out of hand either–the bastard."

      "He'll have to tell me more about that. I might need a sober man who knows how to spot bad booze within the week."

      "What, did your old taste-tester hit the big one with that batch?" Al laughed, letting a hint of a southern drawl lace his speech, "Some uppity yankee hot-shot, right? Can't trust yanks with that business. Beer, sure, but not whiskey or gin."

      "No. I suppose you can't..." Luciano smirked. He set his glass on the table and rested his head in his hands with his elbows on the white cloth.

      "If you two are extra keen, I suppose I do have a job for you, tonight."

      "Listening." Lovino grunted and leaned back in his chair.

      "I'm sending a scout out to negotiate a deal. Meet him in the Meadows at 4 tomorrow morning. At the corner of 20th and Watkins. He'll know to look for you."

      "What do you want us to do? Take him for a ride afterwards?" Lovino scoffed.

      "No, no, I need him alive. He's the only gigolo who can handle me. Allen is a multi-talented fuck." Luciano purred. Alfred secretly wanted to vomit–Allen, with Luciano. When he was in love with Flavio.

      "Is he the bird with the red hair?" Lovino hummed, "He's cute. For an American." He casually examined his nails and chuckled. Luciano smirked and leaned back, satisfied.

      "The night is young, but I'd scram if I were you. It's a long trip to spend with Jones without a decent cup of java. Get some rest. Tell Feliciano I said hi."

      "I would if I could but I can't, Luci. I haven't seen Feliciano Vargas since I left Naples." Lovino said calmly. Alfred noticed his jaw tick and his muscles tighten. Of course he was hiding Feliciano from this murderer–the kid cried at the mere mention of the name Luciano! And Lovino, the sneaky bastard, he wasn't lying, technically. The only Feliciano he had any contact with was registered as Feliciano Lovino in the States. This was a game of wits that Alfred couldn't let slide, no he needed to be on the level to do this job. And he was ready for almost anything. Almost.

       Not long after that exchange Alfred and Lovino left and returned to Fratelli's in silence, save for the chatter from the cabbie driving. Lovino was deep in thought, staring out the window with the weight of the world giving him purple crescents under his eyes, like bruises from a couple hard socks to the face. He was terrified and Alfred knew it. He had every right to be.

       When they reached the restaurant it was an hour past closing. Alfred paid the dimbox driver and followed Lovino as he walked up to the front door of the building. Lovino pulled a key from his coat pocket and unlocked the door. He led his partner inside, not expecting an ambush in the moonlit restaurant.

      "Romano!" a young redhead shrieked and tackled the little man, "We were so worried! Feliciano went to bed already but I couldn't sleep I was so worried!" Alfred bit back a laugh–the teenager, and he was certainly a teenager, was taller than Lovino and Feliciano. He had sparkling green eyes and a curl–if you could call a piece of hair with three distinct corners a curl–that resembled the other two Italians in the building.

      "Get offa me Marcello!" Lovino groaned and squirmed in Marcello's vice grip. The boy loosened his hold and pouted,

      "Nonno wouldn't've let you become an undercover gumshoe! But here you are! Can't I be excited to see my spectacular big brother after he gets home from an evening of risking his life?" Lovino scowled and freed his arm to motion toward Alfred,

      "No, not while we have a guest. Marcello, Al, my partner. Al, Marcello, my youngest brother." Alfred smiled warmly, though he was tired, and waved. Marcello gave him the once over, smirking because he liked what he saw. He tapped his chin and hummed impishly. The pale blue light streaming through the windows highlighted his tilted jaw and wickedly hooded eyes. He embodied the quintessential little brother, and Alfred could only guess what dark thoughts were going through his mind. But (un)fortunately, Marcello was not as gifted at keeping his thoughts to himself as Lovino.

      "When you say partner—?" he purred only to have Lovino cover his mouth with two hands.

      " _You finish that sentence and I will end you, you little shit_ " Lovino snarled in Catalan. Alfred could only guess by the tone that it was a threat. Oh brotherly, love! It made him miss his own brother a little. Only a little. He didn't want to think about Mathieu...

      "Hey, youse guys!" Alfred called, getting Lovino's attention more so than Marcello's.

      "You're as foreign to this place as I am! Don't pretend that's natural for you!"

      "So you figured that out, eh? Ain't chu sumin else!" Al smirked, going overboard with his lovely southern accent. Lovino scowled and let his arms fall to his sides in disbelief–God which dialect was worse?

      "Uh, Al," Marcello peeped after his yapper was no longer forcibly restricted, "I don't mean to be rude, but you can talk normal...no need for fake accents–they're part of your job, right? Well you're not working now...so..." Al's jaw hit the floor and kept on sinking. This kid, an immigrant, figured out he was hamming it up to annoy Lovino in true Jonesian fashion! And he knew damn well that his accent was flawless! How did Marcello even—?!

      "Cool it, Jones." Lovino sighed, "Cello has a habit of flirting with any girl he sees when he's selling extras. He tries hard when there's a choice bit of calico on the streets. He hears a slew of American shit. He has an ear for these things."

      "Now that's copacetic my man! You got moxie, build on it!" Alfred chuckled. Marcello smiled and shrugged bashfully.

      "Romano was the one who taught me what to look for. He's always been the eel's hips!"

      "Heh, and this eel needs to slither into bed. We have an early day tomorrow." Lovino reached up and ruffled Marcello's hair. The boy wormed away from him and swiftly escaped to his shared room with Feli. Lovino locked up and led Al to their room, only saying one thing,

      "You try spooning me I will kill you."

 

 

It was gonna be an interesting night.   


	10. Chapter 10

       Dew covered grass and a couple odd brick buildings set the scene that evening. The moon was setting in the sky as Lovino and Alfred waited patiently for Allen to arrive. The cool autumn air swirled around them. Lovino watched the streets for any signs of movement and lazily puffed on a Lucky Strike. Al kept turning his head every few minutes in search of their ride. It was almost four, and as Al guessed, Luciano would be angry if business was delayed, so he would only have so much time left alone with Lovino.

      "Your brother–he seems like a good kid. He likes you a lot." Alfred mused, not directly addressing or looking at Lovino. The Italian exhaled the last of his smoke loudly and stomped out his butt. His eyes were sealed shut and his head was tilted back slightly, debating on whether or not to indulge this conversation.

      "'Cello is a good kid. Friendly little rascal. He sees me as some kind of hero, but the kid's all wet–I'm no hero. He could find someone better."

      "I dunno, pal. You're the cat's meow." Alfred chuckled, "I never seen a guy act so cool when a knife flew at him. And you're a charmer who could feed anyone a line and get away with it." Lovino's cheeks took on a darker pink tint, and it wasn't from the cold. He scoffed and shook his head.

      "And pal," Alfred added hesitantly, "you are one keen performer. Your voice, your jive–you had 'em wrapped around your finger back there."

      "You slay me, Jones!" Lovino grunted, "Flattery gets you nowhere."

      "Applesauce! Flattery gets you somewhere, even if it gets me nowhere!" Alfred laughed, "After all, you need it."

      "What the fuck are you trying to say?"

      "Don't be so down on yourself!" Alfred slapped him on the back affectionately. Lovino's face twisted into something menacing, and he was ready to sock this gumshoe right in the kisser. But the glare of a pair of headlights shined in their eyes.

       A Model-T pulled up to the curb. The sleek black car had a cap roof and two men inside. One was in the back leaning out the passenger side with a smirk–Allen. The other was driving. He had a set scowl, black hair with a hint of gray in his bangs. He had a scar on his lip. His brow was furrowed and his brown eyes were hardened.

      "Look what the cat dragged in! Come on up!" Allen cackled. Lovino scowled and climbed into the vehicle next to the driver. Al climbed in, shoving Allen to the other side with a smirk.

      "Aw don't tell me I have to sit by you for the next few hours! Baby's up with the grump."

      " _I will throw you out of this car if you even think of fucking anyone._ " the driver let out a throaty snarl in Spanish and started moving. Lovino turned around and shot Al a death glare. The detective quickly pointed to Allen who was sulking by the window.

      "Don't look at me!" Alfred yelped.

      "And what if I wanted to, eh?" Lovino snarled.

      "I'd say find something worth looking at, Vino!" Alfred stuck out his tongue in hopes of defusing the tension. It was silent as they continued out of the city. The wind whirling past shouted icily in their ears. It would be a silent ride. Allen and Alfred were dozing off. Lovino and the driver couldn't. Alfred could partly hear them chatting as he fell asleep.

      "I take it you're the brat's cousin."

      "I am. Though I'm surprised. He is your boss, yet you're insulting him in front of family—I didn't catch your name."

      "Santiago Fernández Carriedo. You plan on killing me for it?" Santiago scoffed.

      "Kill you? No. Not when Flavio is sweet on you." Lovino mused.

       "When Flavio is sweet on me? Don't kid. That bastard is sweet on our little whore back there _._ "

      "You're not interested?" Lovino scoffed.

      "I prefer natural blondes." And after that Alfred drifted into dreamland.

* * *

 

      "Wake up bastards, we're here!" Lovino snapped. Alfred's eyes shot open and he took in his surroundings. Lovino was to his right, angry as ever, leaning his back against the car. They were parked in a field of tall grass, the blades swaying in the wind. They crept down to the edge of a dense forest and tickled an old wooden shack. It was warm, too warm under a cloudless canopy. Alfred glanced to his left and nearly lost his cool. Allen was curled up to him, snuggling into his shoulder.

      "Any day now love birds!" Lovino scoffed and kicked the back wheel. And none too softly. Allen jolted and shoved Alfred as far away as possible. He flailed and yelled as he fell from the car and landed on his back. Alfred couldn't help but giggle. He climbed out with far more grace.

      "Are you idiots finished?" Santiago groaned from behind the cab, "James is not a patient man..." James...Alfred could only guess who this man was...

   And that's when the door to the shack flew open.

       A gruff man about his own height glared directly at Alfred. His violet eyes bore holes into the detective. His long blonde waves were tied back and hung over his flannel shirt collar. They bobbed against his neck with each lumbering step. He moved like a bear–slow, steady, and ferocious.

      "Jimbo!" Allen laughed and ran to an even more irate blonde. He pulled the bear into a bone crushing hug and beamed.

      "Allen you little shit stain. Lulu sent you with him?" James growled. He had a soft but gruff voice that could be soothing or menacing depending on his mood. Alfred, Lovino and Santiago approached them, unimpressed. James looked murderous.

      "Allen." Santiago hummed darkly, "Let go. Right. Now." Allen immediately let go and smiled weakly.

      "This is business. Not a family reunion." Santiago spat. Allen pouted and sighed. James, however, smirked,

      "Punctual as always. I'll show you to the stills."

      "No introductions Jimbo?" Allen said as he straightened his tie. James frowned.

      "This is Lovino Vargas. So behave!" Allen sang and presented a tired, bordering on homicidal Italian. James remained unfazed.

      "And this bimbo is Al Jones, Alex if you prefer. Ain't it crazy? Two schnazzy young fellas with almost the same name!" He thumbed to Alfred. Great so now everyone had to remember to call him "Alex" and that meant he'd have to remember that too! Still James was unimpressed. Alfred shrugged and held out his hand,

      "Alexander E. Jones, pleased to make your acquaintance!" James shook it once and crossed his arms,

      "Follow me." And they did.

       The colorful leaves that fluttered down from ancient giants and saplings alike. The stars nature crafted with flawless flaws graced the underbrush and ground. Those bushes threatened Alfred and Lovino's expensive suits as they followed James into the depths. He was swiftly and unhaltingly navigating the forest. Alfred was right on his tail, reminded of his childhood. Allen and Lovino often fell behind with only a grouchy Spaniard to help them stay close.

      They soon arrived at a mountain cave with a wide mouth. There was a cleared dirt path extending south from the gray opening that led to somewhere. Somewhere Alfred could only guess. There were lanterns on the walls, but not close to the entrance–there were rigs of dynamite planted to protect the product. James pulled a match and lit the first four lanterns. While they didn't reach the furthest depths, the lanterns showed the group a set of stills–oversized barrels filled with the sauce.

      "Luciano's product needs for another month." James said, facing his clients, "White Lightning."

      "We want to make sure it's safe to drink, James." Santiago hummed with his arms folded, "Luciano sent a specialist after that last batch."

      "A specialist?" James scoffed, "It's not Allen that's for damn sure! Is it the short fella?"

      "Short. Fella?" Lovino's gritted through his teeth. He sucked in a deep breath and used his most sickeningly sweet voice, "I'm Luci's cousin, couldn't you see the relation?" James snorted and refused to answer.

      "Specialist he said?" Alfred chuckled, "I'm not specialized or special! I just know bad hooch when I see it!" Oh he laid on that drawl real thick, "I used to make the stuff and all."

       "You brought a fucking specialist..." James groaned. He was at a point where he almost would blow up the cave and laugh like a maniac. A hooch specialist! In this day and age? Seemed far fetched. But Alfred, Al, Alex, whatever his name was at that time, was indeed a liquor expert. He would prove it too.

       Alfred brushed past him and took the lantern from James. Everyone was stunned–James was not the guy you'd willingly push aside. The Canadian flapped his jaw, but no words came out as Alfred crouched by the barrels, and studied them. Not bad. As close to perfect as a barrel in a secluded cave could be. No cracks or openings at all. The outer wood was just dry enough. He went further back and saw the rig and a mason jar, half full, on a small table.

      "Hey James, this all the same batch?" Al glanced over his shoulder. James scowled with a set jaw and nodded. Alfred set the lantern next to the jar and took the jar. He opened the lid and brought the rim to his nose. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. 

      Lovino watched his face closely. His brow furrowed in concentration and the left one twitched when he seemed to be thinking harder. The rhythmic sound of his breathing echoing in the cave became a mantra. The curious flat line of his thinly pressed lips and the tip of his nose brought a smile to Lovino's face. Luciano would trust Alfred, and maybe even him.  


	11. Chapter 11

      In fact, Luciano did begin to trust Alfred after he found James had lethal panther piss in that jar. He sent the undercover detective on most all of his bootleg deals. Lovino was admitted to attend monthly meetings with the top men in the mob. He got all the information on heists, deals, and gun sales–and much needed proof. Alfred was slowly understanding the murder at the docks, because Santiago was sent with him. In short, curt exchanges he leaned that Santiago was in the area, Maximo was a childhood friend, and he had a thing for blonde Germans. He saw the whole thing and ran. You don't want to stick around when Lethal Luci wants someone dead.

      But why was Maxie dead? Alfred had theories, but no proof. He mulled it over every morning with his coffee in the restaurant. Usually none of the brothers wanted to bother him until lunchtime. But as he stared at the reports from the department on the table, he was called back into focus by the sound of a chair scraping the floor. He looked up and closed the report to see the second Vargas brother sitting across from him with a timid smile.

      "Good morning." Alfred hummed cheerfully, "How's it going, Feli?"

     "Morning Al!" Feli said, relaxing a bit, "I know this might be an odd time to ask, since Christmas Eve is tomorrow but do you have any plans for the holiday?"

     "Well, no, I thought I would visit some Jewish friends and keep out of the way. My family is too far away. Why do you ask?" Alfred said to a shocked and blasphemized Italian. Jaw hanging open. Wide eyes. The classic picture of shock.

      "That settles it! You're celebrating with us! I don't care if we don't have much, no one celebrates Christmas alone!" he declared.

     "I couldn't–"

      "Yes you could! It'll be the four of us!" Feliciano cut in, "And I'm telling Lovino when he gets back from the station!" His word was final. Alfred couldn't fight back against that resolve. Not that he wanted to. His mother was in Canada with Mathieu–cold, snow, and sibling rivalry would wait for him if he went to Ontario. His father was dead–a mining incident killed him when Al was eight. Mathieu was twelve. Later on he spent Christmas with Arthur and his brother's, but this year...it was a bad idea. So was hanging around any number of Jewish people–Alfred didn't care to much about society's stigmas, but he was not immune to whispers. Going on Christmas would be bad news for all of them.

      On the subject of bad news, some was about to walk through the front door. As soon as Feli said his name, Lovino marched in with a scowl. He tossed his briefcase on the table and sat next to Alfred with a huff.

      "Ciao fratello!" Feli beamed, "Guess what! Alfred's gonna spend Christmas here with us!" Lovino scoffed and rolled his eyes impatiently,

      "Where the fuck else would he be?"

      "Well," Alfred hesitated, "I don't wanna get in the way of your family—"

      "Don't be stupid! You are family! I don't let just any old bastard snuggle up to me at night!"

      "Banana oil!" Alfred yelped, "I don't do that!"

      "You don't?" Lovino smirked, "I woke up to you holding my waist with your nose in my neck!"

      "I saw it!" Feliciano chimed in, "It was cute!" Alfred was beet red and mortified. Sure he was not a stranger to fooling around with men–Allen knew that all too well–but cuddling up to his partner on the force, a man he felt was like brother, was a bad idea.

      "Relax. It's great for the winter. We're not necking or anything. I would have forced you to sleep on the floor again if I minded." Lovino sighed. Feliciano chuckled and got up. He had a restaurant to prepare. They all knew that. Lovino's scowl returned once he left.

       "Alright you bastard, we have a problem. Lou Axeman is on Luciano's hit list. Santiago would kill me, you, anyone if the German dies." Lovino turned to face Alfred.

      "Lutz? But why?"

      "He witnessed Maximo's murder. That's what Luci thinks. Finding his murderer is essential to the police–after trailing him, w–they found out Luci was selling guns overseas to fascist groups in Spain."

      "The cops confronted him. And Luciano found out he snitched." Al continued quietly.

      "Exactly. But it was his word without solid evidence. If they knew Luciano killed him personally, the cops could confirm that the trade occurred, since they can't find the guns." Lovino said.

      "And Santiago saw the whole thing–Lutz is covering for him. Why was he visiting the docks at that hour?" Al filled in the blanks with a smirk.

      "Lutz saw nothing, he's protecting Santiago. Why? Because they're an item. If they weren't he wouldn't want to protect Luciano's direct flight to Spain." Lovino shrugged with a devilish glint in his eyes.

      "Lutz hates fascism almost as much as he hates the Weimar. You're right, if they weren't lovers he would rat old skunky out in a heartbeat. He's not the kind of guy to let even his closest friend slip by with that. Same goes for Klaus' friends. They're dead to Lutz when that shit comes up." Alfred continued.

      "And now he's a target. How do we get him out alive?" Lovino groaned, "If we get caught—"

      "Lewis Smith. He owes me a favor. If I can get him on board, I can hide Lutz after we fake his death. All he has to do is jump in the river while he runs from his assailants! You'll be on the river in a boat ready to scoop him up and smuggle him to Smith's with me." Al hummed.

      "You're the assailant, actually." Lovino pouted, "You're with Santiago and Bernard, the Swede. Make it look convincing." Alfred chuckled to himself. He made his role as a mafia thug convincing–Luciano's best man as the barflies said. That was easy as pie. The real challenge was getting all the dirt to Artie. He could manage to fake old Lutz's death, and make it look good.

      "So...How was your meeting with Artie?" Al hummed nonchalantly. Lovino shrugged,

      "He got his information. Told us to keep up the good work. Told me to watch out for you. Same as last month." There was something in his voice, a hitch in his breath. He wasn't telling whole story. That was typical for Lovino. Al would have to drag it out of him. Of course that could be as hard as opening grandma's jar of molasses in June.

      "That all that happened? You know we're supposed to be on the up and up with each other. No secrets." Al pouted.

      "It's nothing. I had a feeling as I was leaving like I was being watched. No one was around, but I felt eyes on me. Might've been a damn cat." Lovino shrugged. It was a huge deal in this line of work–they both knew that. The chances that it was a cat or a curious bystander were high, but the looming doom that settled in his stomach made Alfred uneasy.

      "Anyway," Lovino hummed, "Tonight at midnight. The docks. Get in touch with your Germans. You have a murder to fake, and I have a boat to rent." This would be one hell of an early Christmas gift, but if it saved Lutz's life and maybe even his sanity, Alfred would happily oblige.


	12. Chapter 12

      The late December winds flying over the docks could freeze even the warmest hearts. Santiago and Alfred glanced around the docks, a pair of pistols in their coats. The lights in Lutz's warehouse were on. Bernard was waiting in the car. Lovino was on the water. Lutz got a tip from Ludwig. All they needed was to get the plan in motion.

      " _If he dies,_ " Santiago growled in his native language, " _I will personally kill you, Lovino, and Luciano._ " Alfred nodded solemnly. He knew the risks. And then with a mutual understanding, they marched in sync–an army of two about to commit treason.

      Then Lutz walked outside in the wind. It roared louder than a swinging band in his ears as he fruitlessly tried to light a match for his cig. He paid no mind to the pair advancing on him. Two friendly executioners. One target.

      "Hey Lutz!" Alfred snapped and slipped his gun from his coat. Lutz looked up and saw the detective and Santiago nearing him with pistols in hand. He smirked and pulled the cigarette from his lips, he knew this was a rouse,

      "Al, Santi! What brings you here? Wanna wish me a merry Christmas?" He knew just how to handle himself. He didn't even call Alfred his full name or title. Good. After that bit with Allen everyone knew him as Alex.

      "We're caroling." Alfred mused, then sang, "On the first day of Christmas the boss man gave to me, a witness to a felony."

      "What are you talking about? Al–y-you know I didn't see anything!" Lutz gulped. Alfred didn't even resemble the detective that cleared his brother's name those months ago. The German wasn't acting anymore. He was scared shitless.

      "On the second day of Christmas the boss man had to see, two thugs with guns, kill the witness to his felony." Alfred sang with an evil smirk as he and Santiago neared. Santiago was terrified of the transformation too. The dopey chatter box he spent hours with on the road was far more intimidating than he–and possibly Luciano–expected. And then...

      Lutz broke into a run toward the end of the pier. Alfred made a mad dash after him with Santiago on his tail. Leather soles pounding against the saturated boards. Pants of breath as clear as the clouds above. The squeaks and creaks of the boards as they hunted. All these things rang in Alfred's mind like an overture in a talkie. His focus was on Lutz. He had to shoot. He had to miss just enough.

      Lutz reached the end of the docks and turned so his back faced the river roaring behind him. Alfred was closing in. Santiago took his sweet time. Even though he was aware of the plan, Lutz couldn't help but tremble at the sight of the detective creeping forward–if he really were the same man who proved Klaus innocent. There was a darkness swirling in those bright blue eyes–one Lutz only ever saw in one other man. A dangerous man. Lethal Luciano Vargas.

     "Nowhere to run Lou!" Alfred barked coldly. His gun was aimed at his target's face. Lutz had to steel his nerves. And fast. He took a deep breath while Alfred continued,

      "Come closer. I don't wanna make a mess. The bulls like mess. Evidence." he droned in the tone he used for business and cocked his pistol, "So move your ass and get over here. Or I won't be showing any mercy. And I'll fucking enjoy it." Alfred wasn't sure if he was acting like a heartless bastard or becoming one. 

**_Splash!_**

      Lutz dove into the dark currents of the southbound river. Alfred ran to the edge and unloaded the bullets into the water, actually praying that he would miss. With no light it was hard to tell. But his job was done. He could tell Lulu that Lutz jumped into a freezing river, he would have died with or without getting shot. Good thing Lovino was on a boat not far away ready to save the German with the (unwanted) help of Feliciano. Four eyes were better than two in this darkness.

      "Where did he go?" Santiago asked with some concern in his voice. Alfred shrugged,

      "Lou Axeman is gone. Lutz should be with them soon. I don't know exactly where he is now." He was sure Ludwig–Lewis–whatever he went by–would take care of him, warm him up, give him clothes and hot cider by the fire. Al was certain. Santiago was not. The Spaniard wasn't even sure this plan would work. He wasn't even sure if he believed Al anymore.

      "Take me to the apartment." Santiago grunted. He meant Ludwig's place. It would have to wait until morning. He was too suspicious at present.

      "I'll come for you tomorrow morning. One of his rescuers will tell you where he is when he's safe." Alfred hummed, "You can beat me to a pulp and then some if he's not okay." Alfred shrugged nonchalantly. It was as if he didn't care, though the detective could assure anyone that he was exhausted from caring too much. Santiago saw it differently.

      "You're a demon. You care about him, yet you don't at the same time. You were ready to shoot. You were possessed just now. The man with his gun pointed at Lutz is not the one I'm talking to. Who are you?"

      "In due time Santi. Let's go report to the boss." Alfred walked back toward the road passing under the lights, his hat creating a shadow over his face. A demon, huh? If his skin burst into flames on Christmas in church, certainly. Otherwise no one was sure, not even him. 


	13. Chapter 13

      Lewis Smith lived in the north of the city in one of the industrial parks. He was a manager at the _Proctor and Schwartz_ factory, and he was fairly lonely without his eldest brother. He lived on the ground floor of a large row home not far from the new subway. It was a cozy little place with a warm fire that was going when Feliciano and Lovino dragged Lutz inside.

      "My God! Did he jump into the river?!" Ludwig gasped as soon as he answered the door. Feliciano and Lovino were supporting a shivering, soaked German swaddled in a towel between them. Feliciano offered a friendly, albeit weak, smile. Lovino, on the other hand, scowled. He had no time for this crap.

      "Of course he did! Now let us in, he's freezing!" he snapped. Ludwig stepped aside and let them clamber through the doorway. His home was certainly cozy and welcoming. There was an old brown couch, worn to a point of comfortableness not many couches reach, with pillows and a couple blankets–Ludwig of course got more a little later. He had a set of clothes prepared for his guest. Al said they were the same size. Near the back there was a kitchenette with a kettle heating up. And behind that was a pair of small bedrooms, one was well hidden. The place was pretty much perfect.

      Feliciano and Lovino began undressing Lutz while Ludwig prepared some tea and grabbed more blankets and a towel. Lutz was shivering and and fading from consciousness. Feliciano and Ludwig made haste of drying him, but it wasn't enough yet. Lovino slapped him as he pulled a sweater over his head,

      "Stay with us you bastard!" He finished the job, Lutz was in dry clothes. Feliciano and Ludwig eased him onto the couch and bundled him up tight.

      "H-Hey groucho..." Lutz mumbled, referring to Lovino. He guessed that he was in charge when they pulled him from the water–barking orders like a general, "Can you find my friend?–he's worried."

      "Hmm..." Lovino gave him a dark look, "No. I can't find someone who I already found. I'm gonna find Jones. Your boyfriend is with him."

      "What?!" Lutz yelped and bolted upright to Ludwig's chagrin, "Get him away from that madman! Al is crazy!"

      "He's a trained actor." Lovino scoffed, "He took lessons as a kid and they stuck. Now lie down, you're not doing so well."

      "Listen to him Mr. Axeman..." Feliciano peeped, "We saved you from Luciano's thugs...Al's really a nice guy, trust me!" Lutz had to do a double take. The man at his bedside was identical to the Don, except for the eyes and his hair color. He was ready to scream but he saw the hope and innocence in those golden eyes–Luciano had neither.

      "A-alright. Both of you should go. Lewis only needs one guest." Lutz sighed.

      "It would be best. He needs to rest." Ludwig agreed. Lovino shrugged, he didn't want to spend another second among the Germans. Feliciano would willingly follow his brother.

      "Thank you so much, Ludwig!" Feli smiled. Lovino grunted and dragged him outside. Once the door closed they switched to their native language,

      " _Go home and check on Marcello. I'll find Al and the skunk._ " Lovino huffed, " _Santiago doesn't know you, and I don't trust him to keep you a secret from Lulu._ "

      " _Okay! Be careful out there big brother!_ " Feliciano saluted him and ran toward the subway station. Lovino pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and walked south–the direction he had come from–down a block. He exhaled a puff of smoke and said,

      "You can come out now. Our temporary agent is gone." Immediately Alfred led Santiago out of the shadows. Lovino thumbed over his shoulder and said,

      "The potato is asleep. He'll live. He thinks Al's crazy. That's not shocking. If you want to help the other potato, be my guest."

      "How did you know we were here?" Santiago frowned. He had no warning ahead of time–even Alfred was surprised!

      "You're predictable. Al kept you reigned in. Why don't you go help your boy get better instead of huffing at me?"

      "Vino, you are something else!" Al laughed, "This is where we split. Santiago, you remember that address?"–he nodded curtly–"Tell Luddy Al sent you." He gave the Spaniard a pat on the back and headed for the trains, dragging Lovino along for the ride.

      Once on the southbound train, Lovino sat down by the doors, Alfred was next to him.

      "You really are a live wire pal," Lovino yawned, "Lutz lost his shit when I mentioned you. What happened on the docks?"

      "I got carried away with the role. I wasn't gonna hurt him, but I was still scary. Scared myself." Al leaned against the back of the seat and sighed.

      "Well, we can always go home and figure shit out later. It's Christmas Eve." Lovino said, "It's no use ruining the holiday."

      "Yeah," Alfred smiled, "Who woulda thunk it! Lovino being level headed!" Lovino rolled his eyes and playfully shoved his partner.

      "Someone has to be! I gotta protect your pert little ass!" Lovino smirked.

      "Protect it from what? And how do you know it's pert?" Al snickered. A red hue tinted Lovino's cheeks but his smirk remained,

      "I didn't think Allen was a 'what' but now that you mention it... And you tend to pick up details when you're constantly watching something."

      "Oh really? Because I know who I'm watching is the snake's hips with a great set of hips himself." he wiggled his eyebrows.

      "You slay me Jones!" Lovino snickered, "That was horrible. You'll never get your man that way!"

      "That's why we carry handcuffs." Alfred hummed with a glint in his eyes.

      "And if you're the one who gets cuffed?" Lovino practically purred, "I'm sure someone out there would want a crafty, handsome fella with a big...heart." It was Al's turn to blush.

      "What if a guy cuffed you? Not me."

      "Me? I would arrest the bastard who did that shit to me in a heartbeat."

      "What're the charges?"

      "That would be robbery. He would steal my heart before he got close enough for that." Lovino chuckled.

      "You sure are something, Vino!"

      "I'm Italian. I like fine food, fine art, fine wine, passionate love, and beautiful music."

      "Then maybe I should show you around the art museum in the new year. And then we can grab a bite."

      "That would be nice...you asking me on a date, Jones?" Lovino smiled. Alfred shrugged,

      "No, no. Can't a guy drag his friend around the city?"

      "We'll see." Lovino hummed, smirking and crossed his arms. It was quiet–the comfortable soundlessness that only exists between people who are close, like age-old friends or more.

      The rest of the ride was silent. They were silent until they got inside the tenement and checked on the youngest brother, Marcello. Feliciano wasn't there in bed with him. Feli wasn't even home. Nothing good could come of it. On a hunch that loomed like a bad omen, Alfred and Lovino knew where they had to go, and they didn't like it.


	14. Chapter 14

      It was ungodly late, but the police station was a buzz. They finally had him in custody. The chief was on his way. The officer who caught him was going to get a raise. They were of a mind to believe they had captured Don "Lethal" Luciano Vargas!

      Feliciano sat in the interrogation room, cuffed and shaking. The cops kept asking him where the shipments were going, why he killed Maximo, who was working for him–and it seemed like all the good cops worked during the day. They yelled and screamed, not caring if he cried. No matter how many times he said he didn't know, they insisted he was lying. Palms hit the table over and over until he was too scared and shaken to speak. He couldn't run. He couldn't hide. They kept mentioning that name! His cousin wanted to kill him, and tried a few times! The police wouldn't listen! He was just a little Italian restaurant owner in this big old world! What did he do to deserve this?

      Alfred and Lovino raced to the police station. If Luciano got Feliciano...well it would've been ugly. They burst through the doors and ran past the night guard–a Greek with a habit of napping. Lovino's heart raced. His brother had to be okay! He had to be! Al didn't let him stop, even when the night shift officers shouted at the intruders. Alfred had to get to Arthur. He nearly broke the door in.

      "What's all this then?!" Arthur yelped, spilling some fresh, hot tea on his lap. He glared at the pair of detectives and scowled.

      "Was that really necessary!? I was called in this late for one reason and your report is not it! I have to get into questioning in less than two bloody minutes!"

      "Who are you questioning!?" Lovino slammed his palms on the desk and glared into the chief's eyes. Arthur leaned away from the amber pools swirling with fear, rage, and desperation.

      "Luciano." He breathed.

      "That's not him!" Lovino yelled.

      "And if it is, let's have him see who undermined his operation. He won't get bail at this point." Alfred added more calmly. For all he knew, it was the Don.

      The detectives marched ahead of Arthur to the interrogation room. Lovino seethed with rage when he heard his brother wailing. Alfred was just as angry with the officer who wouldn't back off.

      "Where are you sending the guns? My patience is wearing thin! Quit playing games Luciano! Your fake tears can't fool me!" They heard the officer.

      "I-I'm n-not—" Feli said, trying to calm down.

      "Cut the crap! You little shit, you won't get away! Tell me everything or I will turn off this recorder and lock the door to make you talk!" The officer snapped. And so did Lovino.

      "You bastard!" he howled as he slammed the door wide open, "Get away from my brother!"

      "What!?" the officer was stunned. Who let a thug this far into hq?

      "Pal, this guy is Feliciano Lovino, a restaurant owner. He's Detective Romano Lovino's younger brother. So before Romano finds a reason to knock your lights out and demote you, I'd suggest you back off."

      "Let him go!" Arthur ordered out of breath as he caught up with his detectives, "You idiots arrested the wrong man! Detectives Lovino and Jones are right! This man is more innocent than you could imagine!"

      "Thanks Artie." Alfred sighed as the interrogation officer left to fill out paperwork for Feliciano's release. Lovino picked Arthur's keys and released Feliciano before silently slipping the key back in place. He pulled the cuffs away from Feliciano and breathed a sigh of relief. Feliciano tackled him into a hug and cried into his shoulder. Alfred was touched by the brothers, Lovino whispering soothing Italian to Feliciano. It made him wish he had that connection with Mathieu still.

      "Jones," Arthur pulled him from his thoughts, "It's good to see you and all, but I need to have a word with Lovino...alone. Take Feliciano home. What a mess..."

      Alfred agreed. When the time came, he carried Feliciano in his arms like a child and headed to Fratelli's. He was still trembling. Terrified. Alfred had to get him home, and fast. Lovino loved his brothers to death. They were his family too. Marcello loved hearing stories about his childhood and telling him about the people on the streets. Feliciano could come to him when Lovino got angry with him, which happened a lot. They shared recipes and cooked together. Alfred killed the bugs that got in. Lovino was funny, smart, cool, occasionally explosive, and blunt. They were partners–they trusted each other to protect the other and what really mattered. He decided then and there to protect Feliciano and Marcello with Lovino. And he would do just that until the unthinkable happened...


	15. Chapter 15

      Bright morning light–no it was brighter–Alfred glanced around. The old room was made of weak, unfinished wood, but much more spacious. He was alone in his bed for the first time in forever. He sat up and took a deep breath–the scent of manure, grass, and apple blossoms danced in the air. He held his hands out in front of him, on a hunch. Child hands. He was six again and he was home.

      He leapt out of bed in his red long-johns and scurried to the bed next to his. A ten year old with wavy blonde hair slept peacefully bundled under his covers. Mathieu.

      Like he wasn't in control of his own body, Alfred leapt onto the bed and screeched. It was the deafening screech of a laughing child running in the fields. Mathieu, poor Matt, would have jumped and rolled out of bed with a start of Alfred hadn't landed on him. Instead he glared at the kid who woke him up.

      "Mattie! Mattie! Mattie! Get up! It's Christmas!" Alfred cheered. Matt groaned and covered his face with his pillow. Alfred pouted. Didn't Matt wanna see what Santa brought him?

      "It's too early!"

      "Get up!"

      "I would if there weren't fifty pounds of pure pest on top of me!" Matt was always so mean in the morning...

      "Hey! Just for that, I'm eating all of momma's flapjacks and leaving none for you, Butthead!"

 

      And suddenly Alfred found himself sitting in Matt's bed at night, after all the Christmas fun. Where did that time go?

      "Hey Mattie," Alfred yawned, "t-tomorrow can you teach me to ice skate?"

      "Sure thing, Freddie," Matt smiled warmly at him and pulled him into a one-armed hug, "Now did you still want me to read you a story?" Alfred yawned again and nodded. He clambered into his own bed while Matt grabbed a book. By the time he was snuggled under his covers comfortably, Matt was at his bedside with a story book. He flipped open to the best story and cleared his throat.

      "Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived with his mother. He was an odd little boy. He would spend his time daydreaming in the fields with his cow, Milkywhite. One day..." Matt's voice faded and everything around Alfred faded to black.

* * *

 

      Alfred opened his eyes slowly, letting his surroundings filter through his lashes. He felt a weight on his left arm and a warm body under his right. The smell of fresh bread, oregano, and tomatoes tickled his nose. The warmth pressed up against his chest. For the first time in a long time he felt happy. Not that fleeting happiness that came from solving a case or winning a game. It was rooted deep inside his chest. He was home.

      He finally opened his eyes halfway and smirked at the sight. Lovino was curled up next to him with his arms pulled to his chest. His hands were balled into fists, both holding Al's nightshirt. His face was free from worry, looking angelic and serene. He was so beautiful. His steady breathing and soft snoring with the occasional incoherent mumble made poor Alfred want to squeal. It was adorable!

      Lovino's eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was Alfred smiling at him. He smirked and sleepily cuddled closer.

      "Good morning." Alfred chuckled.

      "Not yet. I wanna sleep." Lovino pouted, "And you make a damn good pillow..."

      "You are something else Vino!" Al hummed.

      "You know that's the Italian word for wine. I'm not wine, idiot." Lovino chuckled.

      "You are definitely a type of wine! In fact that's exactly what you're doing right now! Keep this up and you might be arrested for smuggling contraband!"

      "You sound like a dumbass!" Lovino giggled. That sound, rarer than the world's most precious relic, rang in his ears. He could listen to that cute little laugh over and over if it meant his friend was happy.

      "I just might be..." Al breathed. He meant it, with Feli and Marcello around to jump to conclusions, he felt damn stupid snuggling up with his partner. Lovino cuddled closer to him and buried his face into Alfred's chest,

      "You're an idiot."

      "I know. And you're needy."

      "And—"

      "You two are adorable!" Marcello cooed from the doorway, cutting Lovino off. How long had he been standing there? Neither detective knew, but he sure spooked them. Lovino yelped and rolled away from Alfred to sit up and glare at the intruder. Al sat up more slowly and rubbed his neck.

      " _What the hell are you doing here!?_ " Lovino snapped at his brother in Spanish. It wasn't all that shocking really, Marcello was nearly fluent on account of his second job, selling newspapers on the corner of 9th and Market.

      " _Feliciano wanted me to wake you up! We have to go to church!_ " Marcello beamed in reply, " _Then we can eat breakfast._ "

      "Merry Christmas 'Cello!" Alfred yawned. Marcello giggled and shook his head.

      "Merry Christmas Al!" he smiled, "You two get up and dressed! I'll be back in ten minutes. Don't go back to sleep! Or worse!" he closed the door and skipped off. Alfred eyed Lovino and smiled mischievously,

      "You were saying?" Alfred jeered. Lovino rolled his eyes and got up, walking to Alfred's side of the bed. He leaned over and into his face with a smirk.

      "And you're warm. Not that it matters now." he grabbed the blankets and yanked them away from Alfred.

      "Alright, get up. My brother means five minutes when he says ten." Then he went to the dresser. Alfred was happy, he belonged and he wanted to hold onto the feeling for all time. If only the happy butterflies in Alfred's stomach could have stayed there instead of turning into lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, this is Romerica baitng. Let me be clear, they are not in a romantic relationship, and they will not be in one. That's my only spoiler


	16. Chapter 16

      "Marcello, start chopping the vegetables. Feliciano start percolating some coffee and then try to relax." Lovino ordered once they were back from the service and in more casual clothing. Feliciano was still very shaken from his encounter with the police. It had only been a day. Poor kid. Alfred felt horrible–he was the one to convince Lovino that he could be a big help. And Lovino...if anyone dared mention the cops or called him "detective" he would snap at them and chew them out as if they were a piece of meat. But that wouldn't hinder the good Christmas vibes.

      "Al, you get back to work on that roast and grate the cheese." Lovino pointed to him. Feliciano inched away from the group and headed toward the stairs, not ready to trust himself with hot water. Lovino caught him with a glare before he could get away. Alfred saluted and followed Marcello into the kitchen. It was the restaurant kitchen–spacious with two long counters full of cutlery and appliances against the side walls, a large fridge and freezer, three ovens stacked on top of each other, and a stove with twelve burners. There was a sink in the back and assorted pots and pans and cabinets overhead stuffed with ingredients. The off-white tiles were pristine and the beige walls sparkled. It was the ideal kitchen, and when he could, Alfred took advantage of it.

      Al went to the fridge and waited for Marcello to carry a mountain of veggies, washed before they left, to the furthest counter from the ovens. Al pulled out a large pot filled with the roast and marinade from the cold and set it next to the fridge. He grabbed the roast pan from one of the cabinets and set the top oven to a lower temperature. He was no Italian chef, but when it came to meat preparation there was no one better.

      "Jones," Lovino called as he came in, ready to make the pasta, "Forget the cheese. Go keep an eye on Feliciano when you're done." Al slipped the roast into the oven and took a timer from the kitchen, setting it for an hour, and put it in his pocket. He washed his hands then called over his shoulder as he left the room,

      "You get me if you kids need help." They were too busy to reply, but he knew they heard him. Alfred was not what you'd call soft spoken. So with that he went upstairs and straight to Feliciano's door. He knocked once.

      "C-come in..." Feliciano whimpered through the door. It was heartbreaking. Al cautiously went inside and shut the door behind him. He expected to see this, but he still wasn't prepared.

      Feliciano sat on his bed with his knees pulled to his chest. His beautiful doe eyes were open so wide you could drive a train through the pupil. Every swirling emotion was on display. His auburn hair was frizzy and his curl crunched and bunched up by his head. His breathing was slow, it was supposed to calm him but it only made him more nervous.

      "Heya Feli." Alfred smiled weakly. Feliciano smiled back and motioned to the bed. Alfred sat down at his feet and rubbed the shaken Italian's knee to comfort him.

      "L-Lovino...he sent you up..." Feliciano peeped

      "Yeah. He did. I can go if you want me—"

      "No! No...I asked him to get you." Feliciano yelped and lunged for his arm, holding it as if he were a child who didn't want his dad to leave.

      "Well, what can I do for you? I have about an hour before I have to go check on the roast then I can come right back." Al held up the timer in his other hand. Feliciano loosened his grip and sighed.

      "The thing from the other day...I was so scared. I kept remembering the same thing over and over. It haunts me. I need to tell someone about what happened when I was a kid. I haven't told anyone everything. I don't want to keep it locked up, but Lovino would kill Luci, anyone else in the family would want him dead too. I don't want a murder because of me..."

      "If you're gonna tell me, I can't promise anything except that I won't let it get under my skin."

      "Keep this between us." Feliciano said and took a deep breath,

      "When I was a little kid, Prozio Remus and Nonno lived next to each other. Lovino and I would play with Luciano and Renato–he starting calling himself Flavio later–but we were all forced to be close. Nonno and Prozio don't even like each other that much! Renato was alright, Lovi was fine with him. But Renato absolutely loved me. He said he wished his brother was as sweet and cheerful as me. Luci got wind of it one day. Since then he's wanted me dead." His voice trembled the more he said. Al was getting worried.

      "You okay there?" Al asked tentatively. Feliciano nodded,

      "He would try to get me to fall in the creek or play with matches or mess with Prozio's guns. I never fell for it. He thought–and still thinks–I'm some stupid baby who would fall into one of his traps. He never had enough patience. So one day"–his voice hitched and tears welled in his eyes–"he knocked me out. I woke up in his basement, my legs and arms were tied to a chair. He gagged me. But I could see. I could see him twirling a knife. He had this look in his eyes–a horrible look. He stabbed me in the shoulder. And he kept stabbing me. He told me I was useless and weak." Feli was crying. Alfred wanted to comfort him, and tried to give him a hug. Feliciano wouldn't let him.

      "I'm not done. I eventually got my hands free and I got away. That's all Lovino–anyone–knows. I never told anyone that when I broke free, I jumped on him and took the knife. I carved my name on his left side–it scarred–and then I punched him again and again. The rage. The fear. The adrenaline. I lost myself. He became aware of what I was capable of. He doesn't want me dead for stealing his brother. He wants me dead for overpowering him and winning. For proving he's weak." By this point Feliciano was sobbing. Alfred coaxed him into a hug and rubbed circles on his back–like Mattie would do when he was upset.

      "There, there...let it out...Luciano won't find you. He won't kill you."

      "I-I-I know. I'm not-not scared of that. I–I can't become a-a monster like him!" Feliciano wailed. Alfred held him tight and let him cry. Holding something like that in for so long...it had to be unbearable. Alfred couldn't imagine it. His shirt was soaked from the emotional release. He hoped it would bring Feliciano some relief.

      But in their bonding moment, neither realized that the youngest brother was outside the door. Marcello needed a clean shirt after a little spill. He heard everything. But like a good little spy who learned too much, he would say nothing about this to anyone. Alfred would be proud.


	17. Chapter 17

      The Christmas meal was more like a feast. The table was spread with assorted pasta dishes, antipasto, and a perfectly tender roast. Who needs dessert when dinner is amazing? One Detective Alfred F. Jones–that's who. So while the three Italians had their coffee, Alfred chomped down on some Christmas cookies he made himself.

      "Geez Al!" Marcello gaped at the blonde from across the table, "how do you keep packing all that in?"

      "Marcello!" both of his brothers on either side of him scolded. Alfred chuckled and shook his head. The dizzying warmth from the cooling kitchen and the comfortable heaviness of the meal in his gut lowered Al's awareness and put him in a good mood–as if he wasn't already chipper.

      "I always have room for good tasting food and sweets!" Alfred laughed. Feliciano smiled though he did none of the cooking. Lovino was grumbling to himself, not looking anyone in the eye. Marcello had an evil look in his eyes.

      "So you have room for Lovino?" the youngest hummed impishly. You never saw a jaw hit the floor faster than Lovino's did.

      "Well...I'm not gonna eat him...that's cannibalism." Alfred shrugged obliviously, deflecting Marcello's line of questioning. The teen wasn't having that–he was as stubborn as his brother!

      "I'm surprised! He said he wouldn't mind swallowing you—"

      " _Say one more word you lying little brat and I will castrate you!_ " Lovino snarled in Italian. Marcello shut his trap out of fear. Alfred was still curious.

      "What's with you, Vino?" Alfred laughed, "It's Christmas, you shouldn't threaten anybody!"

      "How is it that a perceptive bastard like you completely missed his point?" Lovino grumbled. It was as if Alfred blocked out anything someone said that was related to his personal life.

      "I dunno!" he smiled, "If it's not work related, I don't think too much about it!" He grabbed another cookie and took a huge bite of it. Lovino let his head hit the table. Marcello giggled at him. Feliciano however, decided to keep up some conversation to keep himself calm,

      "So Al, once you solve the case, what will you do?"

      "I guess I'll find a new apartment and keep doing my job. If I'm lucky, Lovino will still be my partner."

      "No." Lovino grunted, "I'm leaving the force to work here when this mess is over." Alfred's heart sank. He loved having Lovino as his partner! It was one of the only times he had someone on his level working with him.

      "You don't have to leave!" Feliciano said to Alfred, "We all like having you here! You're practically family!"

      "Yeah!" Marcello chimed in, "And we're not far from the station, your commute would be easy!"

      "I wouldn't be far from here! I don't wanna take up space! Let's face it, you guys need it. Besides, you'll see me everyday! I can't just leave my family out to dry!"

      "You're a strange bastard, Jones."

      "You know you love me!" Al grinned. Lovino groaned and shook his head,

      "Idiot..." Feliciano laughed for the first time since his false arrest. God that was music to everyone's ears, especially Lovino's. The middle brother stood up and cleared his throat.

      "I know I'm a little late for this," he shrugged, "But I wanna propose a toast!"

      "But we don't have anything to toast!" Marcello whined.

      "Oh well! But I still wanna say thank you to Alfred and Lovino for saving me! I could kiss you right now! I mean it! But I know Lovi would be mad at me. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone! Lovino, could you give Al a thank you kiss for me?"

      "You just wanna see me kiss this bastard..." Lovino grumbled, knowing exactly what his brothers were thinking. Alfred was blushing like mad, Lovino was handsome, he liked guys, but he wasn't interested in that way. Feliciano sheepishly nodded. Marcello was bouncing in his seat with excitement. Lovino sighed and got up, going to Al. He knew he was going to be the one to initiate anything. Stupid little brothers...the things he did for them!

      He sat on the blonde's lap with his signature smirk and wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck. He craned his neck to shoot a glare at his brothers.

      "Don't make me do this again." he quickly pecked Alfred on the lips and slid off of his lap. He and Alfred glared at the other two with matching scowls. Lovino was especially irritated as he wiped his lips furiously with his sleeve.

      "That was disgusting. Do you hear me Feli? Disgusting."

      "Yeah, Vino and I are friends, best friends. He's like a brother to me. You fellas need to cut it out, because this shit can't keep going on. Dig me? You don't try and set up brothers like that..." Alfred sighed. Feliciano and Marcello deflated a little, but their good cheer soon returned. It was Christmas, and their was still love in the air. The best kind of love they knew–the love of family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is cheesy, but in my defense I got the line from ATLA  
> "...the best meat of all--the meat of friendship and fatherhood." -Sokka, ATLA, s 3 ep .15.


	18. Chapter 18

        Alfred was nervous. Christmas was long since over and March was starting to roll out like a lamb. The spring freshly blossoming was beautiful. The trees in the city parks were sporting little flower buds, and the song birds were returning. It was a beautiful day that late March and Alfred was right outside the door of Luciano's hidden office early in the morning, before breakfast. This meeting had to be important. He knocked and held his breath.

      "Come in!" Luciano panted from behind the door. There was a feral edge to his voice. Alfred opened the dark wood door and entered the warmly lit room. The walls were light orange with a dark desk in the middle with two chairs in front of it. There was a couch on one side of the room where Allen lay, bare, bruised, a little bloody, and glowing from his work. Luciano stood over him, zipping his pants. Alfred spotted a scar on his side. "F. Vargas" was written in jagged lettering. He knew the truth behind it and made sure not to stare.

      "Sit down and ignore the whore." Luciano walked behind the desk. Alfred obeyed. He was utterly defenseless. Luciano leaned on the desk with his arms folded.

      "Alexander, Alex," he droned, "you know that I run a tight organization. It has a clear face. I don't like having blemishes in my organization. You understand, yes?" Alfred felt his blood run cold. No Luciano couldn't know, could he? Why else would he call Alfred to his office alone? Allen was there, but Allen was not a stool pigeon. Shit.

      "Of course, boss!"

      "Alex, tell me, how much can I trust you? With something that doesn't involve liquor?"

      "I would hope an awful lot!"

      "I need you to do two things. Firstly I need you to escort Santiago to the airport. Our airport. Tonight."

      "It's not about booze?" Al tried to sound puzzled. He was about to get evidence on the gun sales! That was a relief. But then Luciano pressed his fingertips together and leaned back in his chair.

      "Second, I need you to kill Lovino for me. I know he's the one who brought you to me. I can't trust him. He's gone to the police department too many times. He's a dirty rat that needs to be taken care of. Prove to me that you are loyal to me, not him. Or I will have you both killed. Is that understood?" He brought his folded hands to his mouth and studied the man before him. No sign of anything on his blank calculating face. A swirl of familiar emotions in his blue eyes. Familiar and terrifying.

      "Lovino's a snitch?" Al growled through a clenched jaw. Rage. Anger. Betrayal. Bloodlust. Perfectly timed. Perfectly executed. Allen sat up and gazed warily at the man visiting his client. Santiago was right when he called Alfred a demon over drinks. Something inside the happy-go-lucky detective escaped–something malicious. Sinister. Luciano smiled.

      "Allen. Scram. I have to share a few details with Alex." Luciano purred. Allen got up and dressed in the blink of an eye. He did not want to hear this. He did not want to see Alfred like this. He was desperate to leave. He escaped the room and ran for the nearest phone. Flavio would need to hear this.

* * *

 

       Flavio's...of all the places to find three outcasts, this had to be one of the strangest, yet least suspicious places imaginable. Who would expect a mafioso's somewhat estranged brother, a prostitute, and a gun smuggler to be in the back of a tailor's shop without concocting some bizarre scenario.

      "So you're telling me that the brat wants Lovino dead because he thinks he's a stool pigeon." Santiago folded his arms and leaned back against the checkout counter, flicking an unlit cigarette between his forefingers.

      "And," Flavio leaned across the counter on his elbows with his chin resting on his hands, "Alfie has to do it?" Allen cringed. He wasn't sure if the Spaniard knew the whole story. The glare he shot them both confirmed Allen's fear.

      "Alex has to kill him. Who's this Alfie?" the Spaniard hissed.

      "Lovino is a rat..." Allen sighed, "he and Al are detectives with the police. Alex is a fake name."

      "That crazy bastard is a cop? I don't believe it." the Spaniard scoffed. It was hard to believe that a man he considered a demon like that part of the fuzz.

      "Oh yeah, Alfred is one of the best, it's been impossible to corrupt him–Allen's tried." Flavio chuckled, "He is a convincing actor. And he's a good man. As far as I know, his target is Luciano and Luciano alone. Without my idiot brother, the mob will collapse."

      "And if the mob collapses, since no one dares take Luciano's place," Allen hummed, "We can get off the hook. Alfred wants to see us living as average citizens. He thinks it's our situations making us join Lulu."

      "He's not exactly wrong. But without Luci I would be in Barcelona dealing with bastards." Santiago brought the unlit cigarette to his lips. Flavio sent him a death glare. No smoking in his shop.

      "You could have gone to Argentina or Colombia or maybe even Mexico instead." Allen mused, "And with Lu gone you could work on the docks with your little Lutz."

      "But our problem here is not Luci." Flavio added irately, sounding a bit more menacing than usual, "Lovino's life is on the line. And if I remember correctly, he was the one who dragged Lutz out of the river. You owe him Santi."

      "Do you have a plan to save him?" Santiago lowered the cigarette and scoffed.

      "No, he doesn't," Allen smirked wickedly, "But I might."


	19. Chapter 19

      Alfred didn't dare go back to Fratelli's after his meeting with Luciano. After dropping Santiago at the airport, he would meet up with Lovino on the Tacony bridge. And then his world would implode. It made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it. He couldn't eat or rest with his heavy heart. He needed to distract himself.

      He tried everything he could think of–walking in the nearest park, visiting the zoo, a talkie, the art museum–even running up the art museum steps like an idiot didn't help. Everything reminded him of Lovino and the feelings he had felt for the Italian.

      It's odd, isn't it, that in the worst of times a person will go back to their roots, their childhood, and let nostalgia guide them to a source of relief. Alfred found his way to a local underground theatre. One ticket for  _Faust_ , a German classic.

      What was meant to be a distraction from his reality turned into heartache. Faust sold his soul and lived the high life in his quest for knowledge, and he cheated the devil of a soul. Alfred couldn't cheat Luciano. The Don had eyes on him throughout the day–he couldn't warn Lovino without exposing his brothers. Luciano had said that the man delivering Lovino would be in the shadows, ready to snipe them if he disobeyed. The man in question, Thurston Väinimöinen, was the second best sniper in the world–he never missed. Alfred had never been so broken–even when Matt told him that he hated him, and meant it.

      Alfred wandered the streets, he noticed a young couple arguing in Hungarian. He got a better look at them, lifting his head. They both had long, light brown hair and the same color green eyes. Family. They went into the diner up ahead, where Al was thinking of stopping. He hadn't eaten all day.

      And then it hit him–he knew them, Daniel and Erszabeta Hédérvary. Alfred hurried on, not wanting to be seen. He would have to find food elsewhere, if he could manage forcing anything down his throat. If he knew it wouldn't come back up again. He didn't want to eat. He let his feet carry him toward the other end of the city, where he would get the car and Santiago. And then he would ruin any happiness left in him.

* * *

      Alfred arrived at the garage where Santiago was waiting with a deadly payload. There were three wood crates strapped to the back of the Model-T they used all the time. Alfred walked into the gray concrete room, scowling. He startled the Spaniard, leaning on the passenger side of the car with a cigarette in his hand. He almost snapped it in half when Alfred came in, slamming the door.

      " _Son of a bitch! What is your problem!?_ " Santiago yelped. Alfred grunted and climbed in the driver's seat. His brow furrowed at the Spaniard who was still outside the vehicle. He was angry, terrified, and heartbroken–the demon Santiago saw before was out and more menacing than before. Alfred would never admit that food affected his mood–the more in his system, the happier he was in general. An empty stomach meant a mean detective. He hadn't eaten all day.

      "Get in the fucking car!" Alfred snapped. Santiago's eyebrows rose to his hairline and his eyes widened. He opened the garage door and scurried to the passenger seat. He plopped into the leather cushion and Al started the car.

      "You alright?" Santiago asked innocently. He had to make Al believe that he knew nothing. Allen had to pull through this time.

      "Peachy." Al grunted as he pulled out onto the street and began the trip to the secret airport just outside the city. The gun hidden under his coat was loaded and weighed on his heart. Even if they were lovers, which they weren't, Alfred would have never expected to shoot his closest friend. He was in his own hell.

      "Bum me a fag." Alfred frowned. Santiago pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, holding his own between his lips. He fished out a cig and handed it to Al. The driver took it and pulled to a stop at a stop sign. Santiago stowed his pack in exchange for matches and lit up for both of them. He put out the match and tossed onto the street as the car moved forward.

      "I thought you didn't smoke."

      "I am full of surprises." Al let out a dry laugh, not smiling. He wasn't coughing, he had to have smoked before. But he didn't anymore. He couldn't hide it–his world was about to shatter and he needed something to take off the edge.

      "You know what's in the crates." Santiago scoffed, "I don't blame you for being mad. Those sons of bitches paying for these are assholes, they could go anywhere else. I hate them."

      "Smuggling booze is one thing. This..." Alfred trailed off. He was not in the mood for chit-chat. He couldn't tell anyone of Luciano's plan. That meant certain death. So the remainder of the drive was silent.

      The airport they arrived at was more like a field with a smooth dirt path and a large dingy barn. Al pulled up next to the large doors and turned off the car. With a display of enthusiasm Santiago never showed before, he leapt from the car and hurriedly opened the doors alone. As soon as he had them fully open he rushed inside.

      There stood an Aeromarine 40 with the Spanish flag painted on top of the wings. It could hold two people, though it was a tight squeeze. Santiago opened the cargo hold and called to Al,

      "Grab a crate." Alfred got out and went to the trunk bed. He wanted to get this over with. He took two and went inside the barren barn. He passed Santiago on his way, earning a shocked look from the Spaniard. He set them inside the cargo hold and waited for Santiago to bring the last crate.

      The Spaniard did all the work from there. Alfred made sure he was in the plane before he pulled out the wood wedges. He climbed into the Model-T and watched Santiago kiss one of the wings' support beams and whisper to the machine. It was the only thing that man could put his trust in and he needed to trust it–a storm was brewing overhead. The detective drove off at top speed, kicking dirt into the air, dwelling on the plane and person he probably slowed down. Al wished he could trust a machine like Santiago's plane. He wished he could trust the cold steel in his jacket...to miss.


	20. Chapter 20

      Tacony Bridge was just dark enough for a secret to grow yet bright enough because of the few yellow lamps to glow in the late night fog. Cold wind howled as it flew through the support beams. Ominous clouds overhead hinted at a storm–a gale. A lone man sat up in the rafters with orders–shoot to kill. He brought his red eye to the scope and flipped his ash hair from his face. What did Thurston see? Exactly what he wanted to.

      A lone, unarmed man was shivering by the road. He was decked in his suit and trench coat, smoking a cigarette–his last cigarette. The curl on his head bobbed and danced with the breeze as a pair of headlights shined in his face, making him squint.

      The lights turned off and the driver leapt from the vehicle. Lovino couldn't distinguish the looming figure's features in the hazy fog. The man walked slowly, each step was as heavy as lead and each one seemed to shake the earth below as if he were trying to open a gate to hell. His gait was calm and calculating unlike the aura he put off–a mix of frustration, anger, and bloodlust. And then it hit Lovino, that man was Alfred.

      "Jones!" He yelled with a smirk. But Alfred's face was set in a stone cold scowl. Lovino gulped and stepped back, moving toward the edge. The carnal look that swirled in his partner's eyes made a wave of dread wash over him. He swallowed hard and let the panic set in. The man was a demon. No doubt about it. And this time, he wasn't acting.

      "Goddammit Al stop!" Lovino yelped as Alfred paced closer with his hand in his coat. His fingers wrapped around the gun twitched as he approached his target. Tears welled in Lovino's eyes–of course that pose only meant one thing in this line of work. Death.

      "Alfred! Fucking! Jones! You mother fucker! Do not pull that fucking gun! I am your senior officer dammit!" Lovino's voice shook as he yelled. He felt his back hit solid steel and he looked over his shoulder, dropping his dying cigarette, and watched the orange light fall and fall until it became nothing more than a speck. And then nothing in the torrent. The rain started pelting them.

      "Alfred!" Lovino wailed, "Stop you bastard! Stop!" He didn't. No, Al kept walking until he was an inch away from his horrified partner. He let go of his gun, still in the holster, and snatched Lovino's jaw, turning it so the Italian could look into his eyes.

      "Lovino, I love you. Forgive me." he whispered full of sadness. He roughly pulled that trembling man into a hug. Lovino hugged back, cementing the scent of oregano, tomatoes, and fresh bread in Al's memory.

      Lovino pulled back. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Al stepped back and reached for his gun. No sense in soiling his suit with blood. Lovino was paralyzed with fear as Alfred drew his pistol and aimed at Lovino's heart. A symbol of what would happen to his own. His free hand trembled but the other was stable. He cocked the gun and let his finger rest alongside the trigger. His eyes were glassy oceans of regret–waves of grief threatening to crash and spill over as the tension in his finger crested. His pulse thundered in his ears, causing a throbbing deep within his head.

      "I'm so sorry." Al whispered. His eyes squeezed shut when his fingers squeezed the metal.

_**BBAANNGG!** _

      Two shots fired simultaneously. Lovino shrieked as projectile hit flesh. The wail shattered Alfred's glass resolve. The rain hid the tears. He opened his eyes and saw Lovino was no longer there. He ran to the edge and saw Lovino holding the scaffolding with his right hand, bleeding and dangling like a bait on a fish hook.

      "Lovino!" Alfred cried as the storm picked up. The doomed Italian smiled up at him, though he was fearful.

      "Keep Feli and 'Cello out of trouble, eh?" he shouted and coughed, "Ciao...Jones!" and then his fingers slipped. He yelled in pain as he fell, looking up at Alfred. Alfred shook and reached over as if he could catch him.

      "Lovino!" He screamed, not caring who heard. All he could see was the stricken face of a dying man getting smaller and smaller until he disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you now officially hate me!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to where chapter 1 left off

      Alfred woke up screaming. He rolled off of his worn, cream couch and landed with a thud. He was in his office again. The early morning sun streamed through the window and onto his desk.

      He got up and rolled his neck before slowly going to one of his bookcases in search of a file. That file. He remembered everything that happened after Lovino died. It was hazy, like a bad movie but it was still there.

      He found the folder quickly and dropped it on his desk by the picture frame he turned over the night before. The file opened to the final reports. It was strange–three things happened almost all at once. Lovino fell off the bridge. Santiago told the police about the gun smuggling two days later. Luciano Vargas was murdered in his office.

      Alfred knew all about the first one, naturally. Thurston was charged, and sentenced to life. Alfred got off the hook, because Arthur loved him like a brother, though for the police department's reputation and Al's own sanity Arthur removed him from the force. A good call. The second, Santiago going to the cops was news to him. The skunk-haired man was tired of Luciano's trade and the sky threatened rain. To hell if he flew in the storm that came! He was sentenced to six months for being an accessory. The only thing that confused the detective was the last item. Luciano was murdered.

      The report claimed that Lovino was the only one who could have shot him at point blank. There were even trustworthy eyewitnesses! One of them got detailed right down to the eye color!  But it was impossible. Even if he were alive, Lovino had a strong alibi–the trustworthy young detective was with him. Alfred, in all this confusion, had a theory about the shooter, but never suggested it to the police.

      What good would it do to sentence a vigilante with blood on his hands?–Luciano was the only person he killed. And if Alfred was right, which he usually was, the man–it couldn't have been a woman, no matter how he looked at it–wanted only one casualty aside from Luciano–his mob. That fell apart as quickly as it came together.

      Without arresting Luciano, and getting compensation for the countless lives he ruined, the case was in part a failure. It was a complete failure for Alfred. He became a monster. He lost control and his brother. The gumshoe couldn't even drown his sorrows, speak easies reminded him of the times Lovino sang, and danced, and flirted. Booze reminded him of the case overall. Instead of tipping the bottle or resorting to stronger drugs, Alfred became a living chimney.

      He pulled a pack of cigarettes and matches from his desk and lit up a hint of suffocation. He read through the file in great detail as he puffed out plumes of woe. He had to find something that would have interested Marcello. Why was he curious about this case all of a sudden? Al had no clue.

      He put out his butt in yesterday's coffee and dressed. With nothing to go on, he would have to investigate firsthand. He shrugged his jacket on and picked up the frame. He could get lost staring into the frozen little world. Lovino was there with a scowl. Al had pulled that picture from his files. He knew the irate little man would always frown upon him for his screw up. He would be just as harsh on himself. He would never forget Lovino's smile or laugh, he felt he needed that frown. Someone else could hate him too.

      "'Vino, if you're watching me talk to the picture, don't laugh, I know I look stupid. Just please keep Marcello safe until I get him home. Please forgive me for everything, do it for both of us..." Alfred sighed. He stowed his cigarettes, matches, wallet, and keys in his coat. He would wait to visit Fratelli's until after he investigated Marcello's route. He wanted to stave off going to that restaurant at all costs.


	22. Chapter 22

      The autumn leaves swirled in the streets as Alfred passed the local businesses. He casually smoked a cigarette, scanning the area for one of three people. A group of kids sped past him, laughing. They should have been in school. Alfred was too focused to care. He needed to find Marcello. He needed information. He turned a corner onto Market street and smiled.

      Two teens were lively and calling out to sell the paper. The presses were too hot and they had to make up for the loss. One was a cute girl with brown hair tied in a ponytail. The other was a blonde boy with dark eyebrows and an innocent, determined smile. Alfred knew those two well–Wendy and Peter were Marcello's co-workers. He often spared a nickel and bought a paper. Not that day.

      "Hey, kids!" Alfred said as he tossed his butt on the ground and stomped it out. Peter glanced over and beamed.

      "Hello detective!" He cheered with a prominent British accent. Wendy spared him a glance and pouted. She knew Jones had a reputation for not taking any shit, and she was not keen on giving a straight answer unless directly asked.

      "Heya, you guys mind if I ask you a few questions real quick?" Alfred said. Wendy gave him the once over and scoffed,

      "We're working. Why don't you come back later?" Her Australian accent was key to attracting customers–she was foreign but not too foreign for the uppity generational citizens. She was cute and usually managed to get her way. However, Alfred was not in the mood to play games.

      "I can't do that missy. Just a few minutes and you can get back to it. I'm looking for information on Marcello Lovino. He's gone missing." Alfred frowned. All the color drained from her face. Peter looked unnerved too. They had information.

      "Marcello was with us yesterday morning. He wasn't selling as well as he usually does–he was distracted." Peter explained. Alfred took out a writing pad and a pen and took notes.

      "He didn't even make a pass at Wendy! I asked him if something was wrong but he said he was tired from the evenings at his brother's restaurant." Peter continued. Alfred noticed Wendy inching away from him with glassy, tawny eyes. She knew something–she had to.

      "Wendy, come on back here." Alfred goaded lightly. Rather than cause a scene, she listened.

      "You got anything to add to this? I know Jett runs the streetcar, wanna save me a trip and tell me what you know? I might just be saving your boyfriend's life." Al adjusted his glasses. A light blush dusted her cheeks–Marcello? Her boyfriend? Not a chance!

      "He mentioned something about visiting a friend outside the country. Jett said he didn't get back on the trolley three days ago. He mentioned that he had a date with someone named Lucille–but he seemed off, like he was lying. I mean he and she aren't together and don't want to be. And then after work he went north. We haven't seen or heard from him since."

      "Where can I find this Lucille? And do you know her last name?" Alfred asked.

      "She works at the diner on Cashew and 16th." Peter butted in, "Her big brother, Francis Bonnefoy runs the joint."

      "Francis and Lucille Bonnefoy. I'll be paying them a visit. Thanks for your help." Alfred mused, stashing his notepad in his coat. He pulled out a dime and tossed it to Wendy.

      "For keeping you from your job." He smiled and started walking up toward the diner. He was going to have a little chat with Lucille and maybe Francis. He was going to get answers.


	23. Chapter 23

      The diner was a chic little joint. The walls were light blue with dark paneling on the bottom half. Booth tables lined the walls and you could look down the middle of the double row when you walked inside. The checkout counter by the door matched the paneling and to the right when you walked in, there was another row of booths against the wall and one against a half wall. That left space for the waffle bar and six stools, the hall to the restrooms, and the double door to the kitchen.

      When Alfred walked in, a woman with long brown hair and green eyes greeted him,

      "Detective! What a surprise! Would you like a booth or the bar?" she asked with a thick Hungarian accent.

      "Neither Liza, I'm on a case. Is Lucille Bonnefoy here?" Alfred hummed. Liza's jaw set and she nodded stiffly.

      "Take a seat at the bar. She'll be right with you." Liza pointed to the bar and spun on her heels to fetch the young lady. Alfred took the seat closest to the kitchen and sighed. He knew the diner–he knew Francis, not Lucille. He used to be a regular–Liza and her brother always dreaded serving him–the man could eat! He was curious as to how these two fit into this mess.

      "Hello." A calm young woman with blonde braided hair and glasses stepped from the kitchen.

      "Hi. Detective Alfred F. Jones. Are you Lucille?" The girl nodded, "–Great. I have a few questions I need to ask you. Have a seat." She obeyed and patiently waited for him to start.

      "Do you know he a guy named Marcello Lovino?" Al asked and pulled out his notepad and pen.

      "Yes." she answered stoically.

      "What is your relationship to him?" he asked, noticing her upper lip twitch.

      "We're friends."

      "When's the last time you saw him?"

      "Three days ago he was here looking for Francis."

      "Anything else you can tell me?" Alfred pressed. This girl had mastered the poker face already. Her expressions were bland and unchanging and her voice was too monotone. Her lips were sealed. Al sighed irately and shook his head,

      "Listen to me doll, I'm not a cop. I'll ask nice one more time. After that you're in trouble. Tell me what you know about Marcello Lovino–his life may depend on it." She went pale. This angry man was dangerous and she was not about to let him hurt her. Alfred was more than capable of causing damage.

      "Every so often Marcello comes here to play cards with me in the back." she said with confidence. Of course she was still holding back–Al knew it.

      "Gambling?" Alfred asked nonchalantly. She nodded stiffly.

      "He usually loses half a day's pay. Three days ago he came in and asked for Francis. No game. My brother could tell you more about my favorite chump." she smirked, her lilac eyes twinkling under her square frames.

      "I bet you never lost a game. When's the last time you played him?"

      "Actually I lost once about a month ago–'Cello won a pretty penny. That was the last time we played for cash." she admitted shyly. Alfred tried to make sense of that statement. Did they play other times? For fun or something else to bargain? He had to figure that part out. But unfortunately for him the waitress on duty stepped in with an empty tray.

      "That's enough Al. Lucy has to get back to work." Erszabeta huffed, "Now." The terrified girl nodded and scurried off with a faint 'thank you' on her lips. Liza then turned to Alfred and stared him down. This woman could make even stoic Santiago cower and shit his pants. Al tried to remain calm.

      "What's the big idea coming into a respectable establishment and threatening one of our servers–one who's practically a child?!" Liza snapped quietly, lest the other patrons hear her.

      "I'm just doing my job, Lizzie." Alfred frowned. Liza dropped her tray and he hands balled into fists. Only one man dared call her Lizzie–since they were both little, and even then he chose not to unless he wanted a fight. Add that to her outrage with the detective and well, things were going to get ugly.

      " _You despicable son of a bitch drenched in pig sweat!Fight me peasant!_ " She snarled loudly in Hungarian. One of the other servers noticed the brewing tension ready to snap and ran over.

      "Liza..." he warned, " _this is not the time or place._ " The server spoke to her in Hungarian–a language that Alfred didn't know. He had long brown hair and green eyes–he looked like her male double. Daniel was her younger brother and he was failing at calming her down.

      "Don't you try and stop me! No one threatens a kid and gets away with it when I'm around!" Liza growled. Daniel relented–she was too far gone. He grabbed Liza, hooking his arms under hers, and looked around and spotted a grumpy blonde with flowing hair and a goatee sitting in a nearby booth.

      "Louis!" Daniel called out to him, "Go get Francis!" Louis stood up with a huff–as of the effort were a waste. He meandered into the back without a word. Liza thrashed and fruitlessly tried to break free. All her restraint was thrown out the window. She kicked and cursed her brother and the detective in every language she knew. Al swallowed thickly with each pained grunt Daniel released. He would have some explaining to do later–he would be covered in nasty bruises.

      " _Let me go! I'll hurt both of you!_ " she screeched in her native language, " _This slime sucking horse fucking asshole needs to be taught a lesson_!"

      "Lizzie  _no. That's no incentive for me_ to  _let go."_ Daniel grunted as she kicked him in the shin.

      " _A horse dick in your ass!_ " Liza snapped, " _fuck goats and you get cheese. And this ass fucked the wrong goat!_ "

      " _Are you calling yourself a goat?_ " Daniel scoffed. Liza tried to kick higher and sadly only got his thigh.

      "Enough!" A Frenchman ordered as he approached from the kitchen. His flowing blonde hair was tied back and his blue eyes were electrically charged with outrage.

      "Liza. Take your break. Daniel get back to work. Detective, come with me. We need to have a little chat." He eyed Alfred darkly. Francis was going to give him some answers, Alfred knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot Liza's insults are literal translations of Hungarian insults


	24. Chapter 24

        Francis led Alfred out behind the restaurant. He pulled a pack of smokes from his pants and offered one to the detective. Alfred gratefully accepted and placed the cancer stick between his lips. Francis popped one in his mouth, stashed the soft pack, and lit a match and held it so they could light up together. Francis shook out the match and tossed the charred wood aside and exhaled a puff of smoke to the sky, scowling.

      "Detective," he glared at the man next to him, "What are you doing here? I cannot have a bimbo like you barging in like the King of France. You're scaring my customers and poor Lucille."

      "Well" Alfred replied letting smoke drift from his mouth while Francis took a drag, glaring at him, "I'm looking for information on a kid who went missing a couple days ago. The trail led me here. Marcello Lovino–sound familiar?"

      "Yes. Although I don't know if I should tell you anything about the boy. If you call how you treated my sweet little sister restraint, I can only imagine the horrors you'd inflict on him!"

      "That's just harsh, pal. I—" Francis held up his free hand in Al's face and shook his head,

      "It's harsh to threaten an innocent young woman. I'm just being realistic. You're not the friendly man I used to know, you're ruthless, irate, and cruel—Ever since Lovino—"

      "Say one more word frog-eater and you can kiss that tongue of yours goodbye!" Alfred hissed, a flash of danger crossing his eyes. The Frenchman sighed and shook his head,

      "Give me one good reason, Alfred. One good reason I should willingly give up that kind of information to you."

      "Feliciano asked for my help. Marcello went missing." Alfred grunted and took a long drag. He tilted his head back and mulled over the case. God damn he didn't want to have to go to Fratelli's if he could avoid it. The place was full of memories, memories more painful that a sock in the jaw after getting a tooth pulled. Francis watched him as he let a cloud of smoke waft toward the sky.

      "Marcello came by a couple days ago, to play cards with Lucille. But that game never happened. He approached Louis, my cousin, instead, and asked him a few questions. He reminded me of you back in the day. Then he left. I don't know what they said, just that they spoke." Francis gave in and continued to smoke as he talked. Alfred watched him intently as he spoke, soaking in all the information that spilled from Francis' lips.

      "I need to talk to him, as soon as possible." Alfred grunted, "Where can I find him?"

      "He's inside, I'll send him out here in a minute. Feel free to punch him in the face if he's an ass to you." Francis grimaced and stomped out his butt. He went inside again, leaving the detective alone. Alfred smoked his cigarette and thought to himself. If Louis could give him what he needed, he could avoid that damn restaurant–avoid Feliciano–avoid the past ready to swallow him whole. He leaned his back on the wall as the last few wisps of smoke coiled and twirled toward the sky. He dropped the butt and ground it into the concrete with his shoe.

       And that's when  _he_ walked outside. A man mirroring Francis in appearance only more disheveled and more obviously exhausted. Louis Bonnefoy–his next lead.

      "Detective." he crossed his arms curtly and huffed, "What is it you want?"

      "Hello to you too Louis." Alfred said without sparing the Frenchman a glance, "Since we're both in a hurry, tell me exactly what you and Marcello Lovino were talking about."

      "That kid? I don't remember much, he was looking for someone who might know about a letter. I told him to visit a friend of mine–I don't recall who."

      "You don't remember? Applesauce!" Alfred growled and stood up straight, glaring at the blasé blonde. Then he noticed a large bruise on his forehead. Shit.

      "I got into a fight yesterday. My mind is still a little scrambled. But please fix it with your fists, I'm sure that will work!" Louis scoffed and rolled his violet eyes. Alfred visibly deflated. Louis let a dry, humorless laugh escape his lips as he moved to go inside,

      "I hope you like Italian." Alfred hated that Louis dared suggest that he visit Fratelli's. He hated that the frog-eater was right. It was the only thing left to do. He was not really ready for it, though.   


	25. Chapter 25

       Nothing seemed to had changed since the day he left. Almost nothing. The restaurant was closed due to Marcello's absence, but everything else was as Alfred left it. The tables, the walls, the decor, all the same. The only change was a sign in the window: "Room to Let". Feliciano was visible through the window, struggling to read a piece of paper with creases where it was folded. Al knocked on the window, startling the man. Feli jumped up and ran to unlock the door and let him in. He beamed as he flung the door open.

      "Detective!" he cheered, "Come in! Come in! Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

      "Hey Feli. I'm okay–no need to make anything for me." Al half-smiled. Feliciano was too sweet for his own good. He pulled Al inside and said,

      "You can take a seat wherever. Imma go start some coffee!" Al groaned internally–he was getting that coffee whether he wanted it or not. And frankly, he didn't mind–Feli could make some good coffee. He scampered off, leaving Al to pick a table. He glanced around and sat down at the one in the back near the kitchen. For Feliciano's ease.

       He only realized his mistake once he sat down. This was the exact same place he sat when he first came here with Lovino. He was in the exact same spot as back then. He remembered the warmth coming from the ovens and the most comforting scent in the world. This time it was colder and the smell of fresh bread, oregano, and tomatoes was missing. He felt like he was in the catacombs. It hurt knowing that Lovino wouldn't be the one to bring out the coffee–that he was dead–that it was Al's damn fault.

      "Detective," Feliciano smiled softly as he returned–the coffee still had to percolate. He sat across from the weary blonde and put the piece of paper he was glaring at earlier in the middle of the table.

      "This is the letter I told you about last night." he said, nudging the paper to the detective. Alfred picked it up and glanced over it.

      "Do you want me to read it out loud?" Alfred asked, looking at the Italian. Feli nodded. Alfred cleared his throat and read it over again once more,

      "Alright. ' _Dear Feliciano and Marcello, I hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing to you because I know your brother, Lovino. I heard so much about you I was thinking maybe one day I could meet you. Lovino is an amazing man and I would be honored to have you both as my guests in Tigré, Argentina. I hope to hear back from you soon! Sincerely, Antonio Fernández Carriedo._ ' Huh?" Alfred read in perfect Spanish. But there were a few things that stood out to him. Firstly the sender used the 'vosotros' conjugation, and only Spaniards used that form anymore. On top of that, it was a familiar form, and as far as he knew the sender had never met Feliciano before. Secondly, he wrote as if Lovino were still alive. Finally his name...that was a huge lead.

      "What is it detective?" Feliciano asked, standing up to get their coffee.

      "Does this guy's last name ring any bells?" Alfred frowned. Feli shook his head,

      "Should it? Wait a second–I'll be right back!" he shrugged and hurried to the kitchen. Alfred drummed his fingers on the table until he returned with two prepared mugs of java.

      "Should I know that name? Because I don't recognize it at all. Do you have any thoughts on it?" Feli whimpered and sat down. He slid a mug toward Al and took a sip from his own.

      "Yeah, I do. Do you remember when you saved Lou's life?"

      "Yes...I remember that night...I don't want to."

      "Lou had a lover, he was part of Luci's mob–I worked with him a lot. Name's Santiago. Santiago Fernández Carriedo."

      "You're going to find him and ask him about the letter..." Feli sighed. He was exhausted from his worrying, not even coffee could bring back the pep in his step.

      "Yeah. I don't know if he's still with Lutz. I'm just gonna pay your cousin a visit." Al took a swig of his drink. Feli remembered how he liked it. Alfred realized that he messed up big time. His promise was to keep Marcello and Feliciano safe. He let something happen to Marcello. He had been avoiding the Vargas brothers all together. He failed Lovino again. But this time he would make it right. He started by talking with Feli for a while before moving to his next destination. He would fix this or die trying.   


	26. Chapter 26

      Flavio's boutique was closed, but Alfred could clearly see three men talking around the checkout counter. One was the stylish blonde, though his brown roots were showing and ruining his look, another was a sleazy wine-haired guy, leaning shamelessly over the counter–Allen. The final man was one skunk-haired Spaniard with a scar on his tanned face. Santiago–the man Alfred was looking for. The detective figured the door was locked and knocked once, loudly. The men inside jumped and glanced at the Italian, not sure of what to do, since they couldn't see him behind the door.

      Flavio gestured for them to relax and casually strolled to the door with a sickeningly sweet smile. He opened it part way and hummed with an equally sweet tone,

      "I'm sorry Sir, but we're closed today!"

      "I'm not here to shop Flavs." Alfred grunted. Flavio's eyes went wide and he slammed the door in his face, only to open it all the way.

      "What a surprise! Detective, it's been so long!" Flavio gasped, losing that sickening sound in his voice. He pulled Alfred inside and locked the door. He guided the detective to the checkout counter and took his previous place behind the counter. Santiago looked mildly terrified but Allen...well the man was ecstatic.

      "Al! Man it's been forever! What's happening? Business good? I bet it is! I been hearing about all kinds of mysteries!"

      "He truly embodies the essence of a cabbie, doesn't he?" Flavio smirked, keeping Allen from running his mouth, "I knew it would be a perfect fit. But I take it you're not here to catch up."

      "No. I'm on a case. Marcello is missing."

      "What?!" Flavio yelped and went into mild shock. Allen's jaw dropped, he had never seen Flavio this distraught. Santiago was unusually quiet–which is saying something. He inched away from the group slowly. Alfred spotted him.

      "I'm trying to find him. And an important clue led me here." Alfred glanced to Santiago, "Do you know a guy named Antonio?"

      "I know a few." the skunk-head avoided the question calmly.

      "Really? How about Antonio Fernández Carriedo?" Alfred snarled. Santiago went pale, and stubbornly remained silent. Bingo.

      "Tell me, Santi, who's this guy? You know I'm not gonna take any bullshit."

      "He's-he's my third-cousin. He moved to Argentina a couple years ago. What does that have to do with Marcello V-Vargas?" Santiago stammered on the last word, a clear sign he was not giving up all the information he had.

      "Not a damn thing. Has a kid named Marcello Lovino come to you recently?"

      "Yeah. The kid was looking for a cheap flight to Tigré. I had time so I flew him there." Santiago huffed, not ready to let some bumpkin detective scare him. Alfred looked like he was ready to kill everyone in the room.

      "Hey man, gotta pay those bills somehow!" Allen smiled sheepishly. Alfred slammed his head on the counter and groaned.

      "He's all the way in Argentina! Goddammit! And I still don't know exactly why! He could have written back or something!"

      "Oh Alfred you poor kid," Allen sighed, "Antonio has a few of Vino's things. He wouldn't send them through the mail!" Allen wasn't telling the whole story but the chuck he told was no lie.

      "You–You flew Marcello to the other half of the globe?!" Flavio shrieked, coming out of his shock, "Of all the bullshit  _that_  man has put us through you think that would solve even one of the problems?!"

      "Fl-Flavi—" Santiago started.

      "No! Little Marcello is down there alone! And you didn't think to tell me he was on his way to see that tomato bastard?!" Flavio barked. He sounded like Lovino–it made Alfred cringe. Allen grabbed his shoulder and tried to ease him back from his memories.

      "You fucking idiot! A kid comes up to you with a little cash and you decide to fly him across the world! Did it not occur to your marinara-marinated mind that you could be charged with kidnapping!?" Flavio continued. Santiago was shrinking into himself and wore an expression that was a mix of utter terror, shock, and shame–he knew that Flavio never exploded like this and that in a long moment of thoughtlessness he fucked up. Alfred almost pitied the Spaniard–a detective who scared him shitless, the idea he could be charged with kidnapping after a year of being clean, and the mild mannered Flavio flipping out all made for a terrible day.

      "Jones, pack your bags. Santi is taking you to Argentina to bring Marcello home and he will do it free of charge!" Flavio hissed, glaring at the Spaniard with more venom in his eyes than a pit of cobras. Santiago grunted and crossed his arms, though he was trembling and nervously sweating.

      "What about Lutz?" Allen peeped innocently. Santiago facepalmed and shook his head,

      "Lutz...he's trying to get me to leave the warehouse for a vacation. I'll explain it to him."

      "That settles it!" Flavio smirked, "Bring that boy home! Alive..."


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on, if the words are in italics, they mean the character is speaking Spanish/Castilian unless otherwise stated.

      The day after he met with Flavio, Alfred flew to Argentina with Santiago in his prized plane. Instead of transporting guns, this time it carried a burden. Alfred hated flying. He couldn't sit still and needed a smoke badly. Santiago was not patient with his passenger either. When they landed it wasn't soon enough.

      Alfred climbed out of the plane into a different world. The plant and animal life was strange and oddly colorful birds darted through the jungle-like trees over the flowing river. He got out of the water-plane and hurried over the wooden dock to solid ground. He fell to his knees and kissed the ground repeatedly. If he kissed a pile of shit, well dammit all, he couldn't care less. Santiago climbed out after him and secured the plane. He nudged Al with his foot after he had finished and pulled a pack of cigarettes and matches from his pocket.

      " _You want one?_ " he asked Al in Spanish, holding out the pack with one lip stick poking out. Alfred took the cigarette and got on his feet. They lit up with one match that Santiago doused and tossed aside. Alfred breathed in his bitter sweet relief and sighed, releasing a puff of smoke to the air.

      " _Thanks, pal, I needed that._ " Alfred breathed and rolled his neck, " _So where to? I need to find your cousin._ " Santiago ran a hand through his black hair and huffed. After a long flight, he was not in the mood to deal with anything except food and sleep and taking a piss. He didn't care how terrifying Alfred could be in that moment, he was cranky, irksome, and feeling ornery. The man was going to get only one warning.

      " _Before we go, just one thing–if you try anything or lose your shit at anyone I will personally kill you. Become a demon again, and I will be the town's new exorcist. Are we clear?_ " Santiago growled with smoke falling from his clenched teeth. He looked like a dragon, or, from Al's perspective, a devil. It was almost comforting to see the man acting like his old self–the impatient, take no shit, morally ambiguous mafioso. It was as if they never had to deal with that case.

      " _Don't you worry, pal. I'll be a good boy!_ " Alfred snickered. And then something amazing happened, Alfred genuinely smiled–a smile that caused his eyes to scrunch up and lit up his face like the farm-boy he left behind years ago. Against the vibrant backdrop of the rain-forest and lit by filtered sun through the canopy, that smile almost allowed Santiago to trust the detective.

      " _So what's your cousin like?_ " Al asked as he took a long drag. Santiago groaned and shook his head,

      " _Insufferable at best._ "

      " _What's that supposed to mean?_ " Alfred laughed, " _A little more detail pal!_ " The Spaniard took a long drag and paused, thinking of the right words to use when describing Antonio. A long puff of smoke exited his lips before any words did.

      " _He's cheerful, friendly, annoying. Don't let him drink. Ever. He loves his music, his garden, and his friends. He can be a complete airhead. But he's strategic. I know he would never let anything bad happen to Marcello._ " Santiago explained with a sigh in his voice. Alfred figured he was not a fan of Antonio. Instead of pressing him further, Alfred finished his cigarette with Santiago and disposed of the butt.

      Santiago began to walk toward the inhabited part of the town and Alfred hurriedly followed. The man was always a fast walker. The dense jungle along the river began to thin and small wood houses appeared. Eventually the dirt became a wide concrete sidewalk. People were outside working–crafting, selling their wares, cleaning, and gardening. It was peaceful and calm.

      The detective stood out like sore thumb. His glasses glinted against the bright, warm sun. He was pale–deathly pale from boarding himself away for months on end. Next to Santiago he looked like a ghost. He didn't belong here–he might have only belonged in that Mid-Atlantic city where he chose to reside. He would get Marcello back to that city. He was determined.

      As they walked, Alfred saw the more urbanized area of the delta come to light. What struck him was the looming shadow of a Ferris wheel on the opposite bank. The small amusement park looked like it could be fun, and full of dangerous carnies that he was all too familiar with from his own childhood. They kept heading toward it, Santiago did not hesitate with each irate step. He knew exactly where to go.

      " _What's with the rides?_ " Alfred asked. Santiago scoffed and rolled his eyes,

      "¿El Parque de la Costa?" he couldn't believe a detective had no idea what an amusement park was for, so he assumed the question was more along the lines of 'Why is there one in this part of the world?' How rude.

      " _Not every country is the United States, but don't discredit a place because it's not the US or somewhere in Europe!_ " the Spaniard shot him a death glare, less fearful of the man now that he was acting like a buffoon again. He kept going, his eyes searching for a way across the river. He spotted a woman with a small motorboat and half-dragged Alfred over to her.

      " _Pardon me miss, my friend and I need to get to the other side. Would you mind helping us, Beautiful?_ " Santiago put on a smile and tried to charm his way to free passage. The woman shot him a dirty look and scoffed. She had hazel eyes, chocolate-brown hair, and an odd curl.

      " _Depends on what you're willing to pay._ " she huffed. Her accent, Alfred could recognize it immediately. He smiled childishly and spoke to her in Italian instead,

      " _Miss, excuse my friend, he's got an ego to wrestle with. What's the usual fair?"_  She smirked at him, happy to speak her native tongue. He was kinda cute.

      " _Two pesos a head. But for you, one peso–He's still paying full price, the bastard._ " she pouted and crossed her arms. She was starting to remind him of Lovino. That put a damper on his mood, but Alfred wouldn't show it. He paid his fare and shouted back to Santiago,

      "Two pesos, pal! This fiery bearcat doesn't like you, be glad you're crossing!"

      "Bearcat? Who do you think you're talking about?!" the woman huffed, surprising both men, "Honestly, the shitheads I deal with for that tomato bastard, Tonio!"

      "Is this his boat?" Santiago frowned. She nodded curtly and sighed. Santiago was annoyed.

      "He's my cousin. We're here to see him. So be a good girl and take us over." he growled. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hissed, switching back to Spanish,

      " _Kiss my ass, and have a nice swim!_ " With an amazing display of strength, she tossed him into the river delta and dusted off her hands. Alfred was shocked and amazed, and a little flustered–the only other woman he knew who was as bold and strong was Liza. She smirked at Alfred and tilted her head toward the boat. Did he still want a ride? Yes and no. He wanted her to throw him in the river as well! He smiled at her and carefully climbed in the boat as Santiago resurfaced. He glared at the pair and immediately, in his own stubborn fury, started swimming to the other bank. The woman climbed in the boat, untied it, and ferried Alfred to the other side.

      "Got a name to go with that dazzling personality?" Alfred asked over the sound of the propeller.

      "Chiara, Chiara Vargas. And you are?" She asked cautiously.

      "Detective Alfred F. Jones, at your service!" he grinned. He was happy to meet a spectacular woman, but even happier to be closer to getting Marcello home to Feliciano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't have as much information available about this part of the world in the early 1920s as I did with Philly...


	28. Chapter 28

      Alfred and Chiara waited by the dock for Santiago to swim to shore. They talked for awhile about her life, why she was in Argentina and not Naples, where she was born. Her sisters lived in the U.S. in New Jersey, the middle sister married some rich hot-shot and took the youngest along, leaving Chiara to take care of their dying grandmother. She died over a year ago and left Chiara with too little to join her sisters. She went there and started working for Antonio and his partner in order to save up to go to North America. Alfred told her about being born in the backwoods, acting lessons, and his early life as a police detective. He decided he wouldn't dig into the events that led him there, but once he got a little time alone with Santiago, he was going to get answers–Antonio had a partner...why didn't he think to mention that before?!

      Santiago, soaked and dripping, climbed onto the muddy sloping bank and snarled at the pair as he stood up, covered in mud. He approached the two staring at him, hardly pleased with his circumstances. But Alfred had his infamous glare on and he was not taking any shit. Withholding information that could signal Marcello in danger, well, that was a mistake. Santiago trembled a little under that icy gaze.

      " _Who the fuck do you think you are?_ " he hissed at Chiara in Spanish. She idly pushed her hair behind her shoulders and smirked,

      " _Chiara Vargas. Long term waitress at Cafe España and expert at avoiding contact with assholes like you._ " Santiago gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He wouldn't be so cruel as to hurt her, with or without Alfred looming by her. Instead he marched past them into a quaint building not far away. The pair followed him inside and Alfred soaked in his surroundings quickly.

      The walls were painted yellow with red accents. The windows that lined the walls had screens on top of diagonal crisscrossed tiny wooden planks to make a trellis design that allowed the natural light in. Simple woven tables dotted the floor with matching chairs. The barista counter in the back was wooden and hid the entrance to the kitchen and the living quarters. It smelled of fresh coffee, pastries, and...tomatoes–tomatoes, like something out of Al's worst nightmares. And then there was the man behind the counter in the empty cafe–a man who looked like Santiago, only not as scarred, certainly not as grumpy, and with brown curls, all one color. His emerald eyes could hypnotize anyone who dared look at them, turn their free will to stone like a gorgon, only more pleasurably. And that smile, never faltering, sent chills down the detective's spine. How could one man be so happy? This man was none other than Santiago's cousin...

      " _Antonio!_ " Santiago snapped, his usual greeting, and huffed. Antonio's eyes went wide when he saw that state of his cousin's clothes. He rushed around to aid him, and spotted his guests.

      " _Santiago, go to my room and change into some of my clothes, quick! I'll wash those for you before you have to leave again. I didn't expect you back so soon!_ "

      " _This bastard forced me back, and that bitch threw me in the river._ " Santiago huffed before storming off. Antonio closed his eyes and sighed. There was never any peace around there. He opened them again and let a welcoming grin take over his face,

      " _Welcome! It's so nice to meet one of Santi's friends–I'm surprised he has any, but–My name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, but please, call me Tonio! What brings you all the way out here Mr.—?_ " he held out his hand for Alfred to shake, and the detective took it gladly,

      " _Jones, Detective Alfred F. Jones. It's nice to meet you too. I'm here on a private case, you see, I'm looking for my friend's younger brother, Marcello._ " Alfred said, watching the man's face closely. He looked...confused, as if he knew where Marcello was, but not that he was missing to begin with.

      " _Of course, he's at El Parque de la Costa having a little fun, would you like me to get him?_ " Antonio asked a little unnerved. Some random North American detective wanted to see a kid, and he wasn't even sure the man was really a detective. In fact, he didn't want to leave Chiara alone with this man either.

      " _That would be a huge help, thank you! Feliciano is worried sick!_ " Alfred let go of his hand. Antonio grinned and pulled Chiara to the side, asking her to get Marcello, since as he put it, the kid would listen to a cute girl first. He chose not to mention that he did not trust Alfred at all. And Chiara went, begrudgingly.

      Antonio led Alfred to one of the tables and sat down with him. He wanted to be sure of this man before putting Marcello in harm's way. Alfred wanted to make sure of the exact same thing. It was oddly tense between the two men. The tension was so thick you could cut through it with a hot knife like butter.

      " _This cafe is nice. I like the colors. Been here long?_ " Alfred mused awkwardly.

      " _About two years. It's not home but it's starting to get dangerous in Spain. If things tide over I might go back._ "

      " _Do you think your partner will like that? Leaving them this whole business to run?_ " Alfred leaned toward him. Antonio just laughed,

      " _I don't have any business partners! There's Chiara, but she's trying to leave!_ "

      " _Is she your girl?_

      " _No, no she's just an employee. Not my type..._ " Antonio rubbed his neck sheepishly. The conversation fell flat from there. Antonio stood up and cleared his throat,

      " _Could I offer you some coffee or tea while you wait?_ "

      " _Coffee would be great if you don't mind. Thank you._ " Alfred smiled warmly at his host. Antonio smiled back and hurried to the kitchen. Alfred knew something wasn't right. He was going to find out soon enough.


	29. Chapter 29

      Alfred sat alone in the humid cafe for a while. The sound of flies buzzing around filled his ears as well as a few harsh swears coming from further inside–Santiago's work of course. Alfred lazily read through his notes on the case, trying to find something–something elusive that would make the whole thing make sense. Marcello could have written letters back and forth with Antonio, but he hoped a cheap flight out of the States instead. The kid was impulsive and a little careless at times, but he wouldn't do anything this dangerous on a whim. And then there was the fact that Allen, Flavio, and Santiago knew this Antonio guy–that could have been nothing but...Al wasn't sure. And then there was Antonio's partner–a romantic partner no doubt, who Alfred had yet to meet. Was this guy–he was certain Antonio was with another man by the way he denied any relations with Chiara–was he the key to the whole story? Alfred didn't have to search long for the answer.

      "Antonio is a little tied up with Santiago. But, here's your coffee." A man said, standing next to the table and setting a cup and saucer down. That voice...

      Alfred's head shot up and his eyes went wide. There was no way he was seeing this. The man, with hazel eyes and dark curls looked just as surprised. He was really there, in the flesh. He was so healthy and happy. It was real, the image and sounds were not in the detective's head. He shot up from his seat and pulled the man into a tight hug and cheered,

      "Lovino!" The Italian cursed as Alfred began to spin around, overjoyed. He planted a kiss on Vino's lips, unaware of the Spaniards behind the counter–one holding the other back. Alfred slowed down and stopped, releasing his old friend.

      "I can't believe it! You're alive! I could kiss you!" Alfred laughed.

      "You did!" Lovino flicked him in the forehead, "And it was still disgusting!" Alfred rubbed his head and blushed sheepishly. Tears welled in his eyes.

      "I'm sorry Vino." He fell to his knees before the Italian and sobbed, broken apologies escaped his lips as a mix of guilt, joy, sadness, and relief washed over him. The men who surrounded him were stunned, especially Santiago. The shock faded quickly and was replaced by a cornucopia of other emotions. Antonio looked torn between wanting to strangle Alfred and wanting to hug him. Santiago was silently glaring at the blubbering mass on his knees, completely unreadable.

      " _Toño get a wet towel! Santiago piss off and make sure Marcello doesn't see this!_ " Lovino ordered calmly, the others obeyed. He was used to breakdowns, including his own, so he knew exactly what to do. He was concerned and worried. Alfred was never this emotional–a mess of a man pouring the Dead Sea from blue-green pools. What did he know? What didn't he know? What was running through his mind this past year and a half?

      "Jones. Dammit, breathe." Lovino crouched and hugged the shaking detective, stroking his hair and humming an old lullaby. His apron was getting soaked and so was his shirt. Alfred clung to him and took deep breaths, inhaling then exhaling, and repeating until the flood turned to a trickle.

      "Vino, I-I'm so sorry. I-I-I thought you were dead. I-I thought–I thought..." Alfred gasped. Antonio came back with a cool damp towel and knelt beside Lovino. Alfred didn't care if he heard, the blonde had to say it or let the past control him forever,

      "I thought I killed you." he clenched his jaw and fists, "I thought I killed my best friend, my brother. I thought you were gone and it was all my fault! I thought I ruined everything!"

      "Give me that, wouldja." Lovino held out his hand to Antonio and took the towel. He lifted Alfred's face by the chin and dabbed his burning forehead and cheeks with the towel.

      "You thought wrong. Hell, I ought to thank you for letting me fall." Lovino half-smiled, "If I stayed I never would have met my life partner."

      "You mean...?" Alfred hiccuped. Lovino nodded and gestured to Antonio. Alfred smiled through his tears and laughed. A short happy sound that started to spread through him,

      "I always knew you would find a smokin' babe! Congrats!"

      " _See Toño, my honorary brother likes you too._ " Lovino whispered to the man next to him. Antonio smirked and kissed his forehead.

      " _So this is the same Al? I have no reason to be jealous._ " Antonio giggled mostly to himself.

      "Alfred, I'm staying here with Antonio. But Marcello will be back in the States soon. That's why you're here isn't it? Stupid kid forgot to tell Feli...no surprise there." Lovino sighed and stood up, offering Alfred a hand.

      "Ye-yeah..." Al sighed, coming down from his fit, "Feli sent me."

      "We were gonna ship him back with Santiago when he came back. Kid got an earful."

      "He's a good kid!" Antonio added, startling Alfred a bit. He spoke English too? Antonio chuckled softly at his expression,

      "Come have a seat, I want to hear Lovino's story from a different perspective if you don't mind." Alfred smirked, it was almost comical when paired with his red, tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes. Oh Antonio was gonna get a story all right, the truth with a little emphasis on Lovino's suave appeal for Antonio's sake...and to embarrass Lovino...like a kid brother. Oh yeah, it was a hell of a story anyway.


	30. Chapter 30

      "And after that I had him pegged as dead...until today." Alfred sighed and took a sip of his coffee. He was at a table with Lovino and Antonio. The former was fighting back laughter for the others' sakes. The latter was leaning over the table intently listening and absorbing all the information that the detective had spilled. He was horrified at all his lover went through.

      "Eh, what's so funny Vino?" Alfred asked the struggling Italian. Lovino shook his head and calmed down,

      "Christmas. I almost forgot that we woke up spooning! And Marcello got the wrong idea!" Alfred smirked and facepalmed. Lovino doubled over with his uncontrollable laughter.

      "I can't believe Luciano threw a knife at you and then tried to poison you that night! And you were so calm about it!" Antonio pouted.

      "I-I, ahem, I didn't notice he threw anything until I heard a scream. I was scared shitless! The rest of the night was just an act!" Lovino calmed down and replied, "But Jones was the next Valentino–I had a hunch about the hooch, but he knew. And laid it on thick!"

      "Yeah, he mentioned that..." Antonio still pouted and made puppy dog eyes at Lovino. He was scared for him, even though Lovino was perfectly safe.

      "I'm surprised they thought I murdered Luci. I have an alibi. And I don't have a double." Lovino frowned.

      "No one knows for sure. I have a theory but, let's not get into that. Luciano is dead." Alfred shrugged, "Philly is safer now."

      "Good. Feli and 'Cello should be safe to come out as Vargases now. If they want." Lovino nodded for emphasis.

      "Al–can I call you Al?–I was wondering about the German, Lutz..." Antonio fidgeted nervously. He was in a relationship with Santiago, and Antonio really did care about his cousin.

      "Lutz? Great guy, great sense of humor, knows to balance work and play, friendly as a puppy, not too serious, protective of those close to him, and a loyal guy. He didn't rat out Santi to anyone but me. Santiago is a lucky fella. Then again so is Lutz." Alfred beamed, "I still feel bad for spooking them so much!"

      "You turned a Christmas carol into a death threat! Can you blame them? If I were there, I'd be horrified too!" Lovino scoffed.

      "I'll be right back." Antonio said, getting up and gathering the mugs. He was glad to have closed for the day! He just wanted to hug Lovino and thank him for surviving that mess once everyone else left.

      "Would you like anymore coffee?" Antonio looked to both of the former police detectives. Lovino shook his head. Al held up a hand and said,

      "No thanks, pal. It was the bee's knees." Antonio beamed and hurried out of the room. Once he was out of earshot, Al sighed,

      "Feliciano misses you, I'm not telling you to come back to the States, I know you're happy here, but maybe write him every so often. Let him know you're alive."

      "You say that like it's that simple. I abandoned them for a man. How the hell am I supposed to say, 'Hey I'm alive and in love with a smokin bimbo so you'll still never see me again. But at least I'm not dead!' How do you say that to your family?" Lovino sighed. Alfred put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head,

      "You already said it. To me. To Marcello. Just tell Feli you're alive and in love with an amazing man and you've started a new life together. You still think about him all the time and you want him to be okay. I know he'll be over the moon."

      "You think so?"

      "I know so, he was a mess when you 'died' and he isn't the same anymore, but dammit if he doesn't try to look it!" Alfred grinned. Okay so he wasn't sure about Feliciano changing after Lovino left, but he knew it affected him. The only person in the area who could confirm that was Marcello.

      "Al!?" said teenager yelped when he came through the front door with Chiara, who was irked for some reason or another. He was taller than Al remembered, his face was thinner too.

      "Marcello!" Alfred gasped, "Thank God you're okay! Do you have any idea how worried Feli is?"

      "Worried enough to go to you for help..."

      "Exactly. We're going home as soon as possible. Feliciano, Lucille, Peter...and Wendy miss you."

      "Wendy?" Lovino asked Al with a smirk, "You don't mean that cute Australian girl he has a crush on, do you?"

      "Shut up!" Marcello whined. He sagged a little and pouted.

      "So Santiago can only fly one person at a time," Alfred yawned, changing the subject. Marcello frowned. He didn't want to leave just yet.

      "He can take you back first, and you can explain everything to Feli. I'll come back in a week like we planned. Would that be okay?" Marcello batted his eyelashes.

      "Ask Lovino, I can pay for a flight from Buenos Aires." Alfred said, looking to Lovino. Lovino shrugged,

      "Chiara, would you be able to get Al to Buenos Aires?"

      "I can't. It's not cheap and I have to work." She huffed. Lovino smirked,

      "Marcello's plan works best. And I wanna spend some more time with my little brother."

      "I guess I'll go. Vino, you're something else!" Alfred gently nudged his arm.

      "And you're a piece of work!" Lovino chuckled. Alfred was beyond happy to hear that sound. He would probably never get another chance to hear it. Lovino was gone. Happy and alive. The guilt weighing on Alfred's soul was gone. At least Al could write to his friend even if he never saw him. Marcello was safe. Everything worked out, even though it was bittersweet. Alfred could return home with a new zest for life and a brighter smile. The world was cold, but he could always find warmth.  
  


~The End~


	31. Epilogue

      Alfred F. Jones stood behind his desk in his office, wearily looking out the window with a lit cigarette between his lips. Two months after he found out Lovino was still alive. He knew the world was dark and cruel, he knew deep down he could be just as dark and cruel, but maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel, maybe it was just a match that would burn out in time. The detective tried not to think of the transitions from joy to sorrow to acceptance and back to joy on Feliciano's face when he gave the poor restaurant owner the news. It was as if the sorrow that ate at both of them never existed for Feliciano. And the letters they both got a week later, sent to Feliciano to save on postage, made that grief seem like a distant dream. Alfred had been writing back and forth with Lovino since then. It was as if nothing had changed between all of them, Marcello included, but Lovino wasn't there, Marcello was growing up, and Alfred could never rejoin the police force, Chief Kirkland's hands were tied–Alfred made a name for himself as a private investigator and the city council did not want to have him on the payroll. That's life.

      Alfred pulled the cig from his mouth and sighed, deep in thought. He had a new case, from one Alicia Honda, the wife of a successful businessman, Kiku Honda. Their friend and company supervisor, Monica Blacksmith, was looking for her sister Julia. Miss Blacksmith, or rather Monika Beilschmidt, had trouble finding the right detective in New York and in Newark. People were too uncomfortable with Germans since the Great War, it was a little easier in these parts. Alicia and Kiku were damn good friends. They got in touch with Alfred, and he was already making some headway. He would find Julia, though it was a tall order.

      He took a final drag and put out the cigarette in an ashtray on the windowsill. The street below was misty from the rain earlier during the day. A dreary day, perfect for a dreary man. The droplets that remained on his window shone with the lights of his home. The only bright thing he wanted to see was Feliciano's face with a plate of hot pasta in front of him. Alfred could really go for a little linguini alfredo...and laugh at the irony. It was closing time. He decided to pay Feliciano a visit.

      He rolled his shoulders and took the coat off the chair behind him. He slipped it on and grabbed his hat and keys. He was about to reach for the handle when suddenly there was a knock at the door. He opened it, expecting one of his three clients, but not one of them was standing there. The eyes boring into him were alight. He couldn't forget that face, that hair, anything about the woman. It had been a while, but the impression she made lasted.

      "Detective..." she purred. And that was when  _she_ walked right back into his life.

      And Alfred knew he was in for a wild ride.


End file.
